We Built This Come Death: Of Remnants
by Plug
Summary: When Shikamaru, Hinata & the Sand Trio are sent on a mission to an unfamiliar country, inexplicable facets of the mission itself alongside tensions within the group cause things to spiral quickly out of control.
1. Astral Highways

**WE BUILT THIS COME DEATH**  
Opening Movement — "Of Remnants"

Naruto is property of Masashi Kishimoto and Shonen Jump. The author claims no part in ownership and makes no challenge against these copyrights, as this fiction is merely a recreational creation done without any intention of financial gain or compensation. The basic framework of this story is that it takes place just shortly after Naruto has left with Jiraiya on his three-year training mission following the failed Sasuke retrieval attempt. This is multi-part work spread across three 'movements', so stay tuned for more. The reader should be made aware of the presence of some coarse language and a few violent passages. Thanks to Heather for her support and assistance.

A note about the manga: this story was conceived and planned about the time the manga was at chapter 307. Although this story deviates from the chronology a lot earlier than that I thought it would be prudent to mention this in the event that something is done in installments after that chapter to contradict anything in this story. Given that this story will break away from the established canon and be unable to be tied back in at the conclusion, this isn't a huge issue. But all the same, if someone finds a contradiction to the canon thereafter, that's the explanation I'll give. Thanks, and hopefully, enjoy.

* * *

_"You gain power by pretending to be weak.  
By contrast, you make people feel so strong.  
You save people by letting them save you."_  
-- Chuck Palahniuk, "Choke"

* * *

**Of Remnants  
—one—  
'Astral Highways'**

He supposed he should be dead. The twisted human wreckage of his body was smoldering in cratered, burning earth; dozens of kunai carving red tunnels through his flesh, splitting tissue and bone in a final brutal art. Blood fell from his broken mouth, an amorphous crimson flow bubbling over his chin onto blackened dirt resting against his face. The smell of conflagrated wood choked what remained of his shattered senses.

_I can still see him. His abyss gazing deep into me. . ._

Metal twisted in a demented symmetry. What remained of the carriage was strewn about the clearing in charred debris, oaken surfaces exhumed of color as fire tore it away with scalding teeth. Pitch black smoke funneled into the skies above. The overwhelming heat pulsing from the dancing flames stabbed at his eyes, tears streaming down his cracked and bruised face. Somewhere in the area were the scattered, eviscerated bodies of his Genin charges. He couldn't recall when their screams had stopped.

_With. . . with eyes. . . th-the eyes. . ._

A great terrible crashing. Flames crushing a tree at its roots with light-wave scissors, wood and leaves and sparks and power slamming into the scorched ground.

_The EYES. . ._

Time was lost as the surging darkness coiled to strike. In the frail organic frenzy that was all that remained of his life, he could feel or remember nothing other than what the man had said to him. Before agony became his sweet demoness. Before he became the wretched black within the eraser-red. Before the spindle-eyes cracked open, onyx river-stones, watching him in pairs and pairs and pairs.

And the man had said:

_I will be with you long after this nightmare. You will never awake without me._

x x x x x

"Overall, you generally did fairly well. Most of you proved you are capable of keen observation and intelligence skills, so congratulations on that. It's good that I haven't been wasting my time on you. But that doesn't mean this was an enormous success for everyone either: there were a handful that managed to fail the test, and even more that missed some key questions. Particularly on the written portion of the chakra-suppression there was a. . . lacking." He paused as he filed quickly through the papers in his hands, fluttering the upper corners of the pages with his thumb. "Tch. A great big lacking. . . You can do better than this, kids. So everyone pull out your copies and let's go over the messier parts."

A room full of eight-year-olds groaned.

Shikamaru grimaced. _Damn troublesome brats. . ._

He turned to his chalkboard, picking up a well-used stick from the ledger with his free hand. "No complaining." He began to scratch words across the murky green surface. "Alright, first, there seems to be a lot of confusion over the relationship between chakra-exchange, stamina and basic taijutsu. The main thing to remember is that stamina and chakra are energy-wells, which are separate and can be drained or replenished individually. Taijutsu itself is a style of techniques that requires no chakra manipulation at all. None. A lot of people confused stamina with chakra here. The key is that stamina itself is the energy source that both taijutsu and chakra feed off of—this means that while they both depend on your stamina, they don't depend on _each other_. This means no stamina, no chakra or taijutsu, kids."

The sound of pencils scratching could be heard behind him.

Taking a brief glimpse at the tests in his left hand, he sighed inwardly. _Tch, I'm putting my_self _to sleep, here_. . . He brushed flakes of chalk-dust on his palm off on the side of his Chuunin vest before continuing to illustrate his point on the board. "Just remember that taijutsu is completely different from ninjutsu and genjutsu in that it is strictly martial arts. Close combat melee only. It will drain your overall stamina, because every physical action you ever take does to some degree, but unless you actively feed chakra into your grappling it is achieved independently. I noticed a few misconceptions on the test where a few of you answered that by replenishing your stamina, your chakra will rejuvenate as well. This is wrong. Chakra has its own source and flow; therefore it can only be refilled independently. I think a lot of the confusion on that question was that people mixed up the remedies themselves: a lot of the ways to regenerate stamina also do the same for chakra, so there's some overlap there. However they still remain separate energy sources."

His half-hearted lecture was interrupted as the door to his right slid open with a soft hiss. He turned slightly, a faint smile grazing his lips.

Chalk in hand he waved at the visitor. "Hey, Iruka-sensei."

His class was quick to mirror him in a childish choir. "Hello, Iruka-sensei!"

Hands crossed behind his back, Iruka smiled warmly.

For a moment Shikamaru was flooded with a wave of nostalgia, rushing across his cynical mind-fields in glittering streams. Looking upon him now, it was almost as if Iruka had remained static in his thoughts as well as reality: the same warm demeanor, the same lateral scar across his nose, the same gentle aura enveloping those he smiled for. There was something maturing in the realization that Shikamaru was standing where Iruka once did in both the literal and conceptual sense; also, a strange momentary sadness with the same knowledge came the growing, formless distance between Shikamaru and his shining carefree childhood.

Iruka waved to the children. "Good afternoon, all. How did the test go?"

Mayhem scattered across the class in a cacophony of: "Terrible! Awful! It's too hard!"

"They did okay," Shikamaru offered, rolling his eyes.

Iruka laughed softly. "Well, do your best, class."

Shikamaru gestured to the chalkboard. "We're just going over them right now. Did you want to help with some of the explanations, Iruka-sensei?"

With a sniffle, some of the ease of Iruka's atmosphere vanished. His eyes met Shikamaru's solemnly. "Actually, I'm here to see you regarding a mission, Shikamaru."

Shikamaru sighed. "Tch." A brief glance at the tests in his hand sent his vision then gliding to the window on the other side of the room. A light haze smothered the glass as sunlight fell upon the village, clouds drifting serenely through a sweltering-azure sky. _It's going to rain in a few hours_, he thought absently. With a half-smile, he turned to his young students. "You know, class, it's a nice day outside. This is the type of day where everyone should relax and enjoy the clouds. Since there's only twenty minutes left anyways, why don't you all take the rest of the day off?"

They didn't need to be asked twice. "Yay! Thank you, Shikamaru-sensei!"

As order melted into chaos amid the buzzing throng of children abandoning the room as expediently as they could, Shikamaru raised his voice to cut through the noise in a gesture he knew to be futile. "Take your tests home! Make sure to read over them for tomorrow!"

Lacking the subtlety of thoroughly educated ninja, the room emptied in a frenzied human swarm. Rushing in the wake of the children's exodus was a silence that was almost eerie: gliding across the expansive room with an invisible reach, making the room peculiar and alien. Shikamaru sighed. It was troublesome the way the children annoyed him so thoroughly when they were present and he still found he missed them when they were gone.

Iruka simply grinned. "Looks like you're getting better at this every day. I'm impressed."

Shikamaru shrugged, leaning against the chalkboard. Chalky vapor wafted into his nose, a scent similar to dusk, reminding him briefly of setting suns and violet-smudged skies. "Honestly, it's a real hassle. I have to talk a lot more than I'm accustomed to."

"Being charged with the future of young children is a great responsibility," Iruka replied. He regarded Shikamaru with a certain irony. "It takes practice and dedication. . . neither of which you've ever been too keen on, so I imagine it's a strain for you at times."

"Yeah. At times."

Iruka's eyes began to drift through the empty room. "Hard to believe that just less than two years ago it was me standing in here and you sitting over there. Life's funny like that."

A weird sensation coursed through Shikamaru, his eyebrows furrowing. "Please, don't remind me. Soon these brats'll be up here and I'll have to see what I terrible job I did at teaching them as they makes fools of themselves."

"Hah hah, have a little faith, Shikamaru. You're not doing as bad as you think."

Mandatory small-talk aside, Shikamaru redirected the conversation. "You said Hokage-sama needs to talk to me? Or something to that effect?"

"Indeed," Iruka nodded. He absently scratched the bridge of his nose, calloused finger nudging scar tissue. "Seems there's a diplomat in town and you've been hand-picked. Congratulations."

"Great," Shikamaru sighed. "Politics. _That's_ what I need." He stopped leaning against the board, and briefly rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms. He felt very tired suddenly. After blinking for a brief moment, he handed Iruka the papers he still held in his hands. "Here, take their test-sheets since I guess I won't be in tomorrow. You'll have your work cut out for you." With a soft groan he stretched his arms above his head, muscle-coils stretched taut. He sighed, placing his hands in his pockets. "Well, guess I better go—I'm not big on keeping her waiting."

Flipping briefly through the tests, Iruka laughed. "See? Wisdom beyond your years."

Shikamaru smiled, walking past Iruka with no hurry in his step in spite of his admission. As he stepped out of the room, he half-turned with a wave. "Later, Iruka-sensei."

Enthusiasm did not walk with him.

x x x x x

"I still can't believe they took out Baki-sensei."

To punctuate his sentence, Kankuro kicked a loose stone, only half-watching as it cracked against a larger rock several feet away and then pirouetted into the glittering stream he was walking alongside. The afternoon sunlight cast fractal shadows across the forest canopy; scattering with each huge sigh of wind lingering through the trees. Kankuro's attention was not on the plush scenery around him, but rather on the seething ache nestled behind his ribs: portraits of his Sensei fluttering through a visceral chasm, darkly burning with a feeling not unlike vengeance. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, careful not to smudge the intricate design painted across his face.

Beside him, Temari sighed softly. As they trudged on through the Fire Country's winding forest nearing the gates to Konoha, she laced her fingers behind her head, looking up at the myriad patterns of light attempting to puncture the emerald ceiling. "Yeah, that's kinda sobering. Although I hear his condition isn't really all that critical, so that's good news."

Kankuro looked over his shoulder at his other companion. "So how are we going to go about this? Do we just stroll on up and yank Sensei out of their care and bring him home? Maybe I wasn't paying the greatest of attention, but I barely remember any of his mission details."

With his arms crossed and a face indicating deep thought, Gaara shrugged. "We will continue with his assignment."

"I dunno. . ." Temari said, "seems kind of sketchy now. I still think it's a bit preposterous that the attack happened right outside Konoha." Her expression adopted a sudden distaste, her nose wrinkling and eyes squinting. "It's like whoever got the jump on Baki-sensei is either monumentally retarded and didn't take the area into consideration or they actually _wanted_ Leaf to get involved."

Kankuro made an effort to crunch a stray twig under his sandals. "Probably the second one, since someone as dumb as option one. . . there's no way they could've overpowered Sensei. Unless they have some mysterious third objective which would turn an already annoying situation into a real headache."

"Hypothetical guessing now is worthless," Gaara stated. "We don't have enough information to draw any reasonable conclusion."

Temari's head tilted as she caught sight of a tiny bird arcing through the light green haze above, gliding in twisting crescents between elevated branches. "You're probably right. It's a bit strange. . ." Her voice trailed off and a calm smile swept across her face, her eyes casually lingering over a twisting of trees and grass to her left. She took in a deep breath, shivering as clean, scented particles rushed into her lungs. "I do love the scenery in Fire Country. The local floral isn't such a deadweight on my skin. Who knows? I could maybe even get away with walking ten feet without having to rub sand out of my eyes if we hung around for a while." She gave a quiet smirk. "I'm horribly jealous."

Kankuro scoffed, kicking another rock into the curving stream. "You guys do realize that we'll have to end up working with the Leafies if we pick up where Sensei left off, right? I dunno, but I'm not really keen on partnering up with a bunch of kids who'll just slow us down. No pun intended, but you saw how green they all were at the preliminaries."

Temari considered that. "Hmm. Depends who they saddle us with." She gave an extroverted shrug with her hands, before linking them together behind her back. "Time's gone by since then, so who knows? And even still, if we have to, that doesn't mean they'll be running the show necessarily."

Gaara shook his head. "They'll be in charge."

Kankuro sighed. "Oh God. Why? Now there's no _way_ I want to do this."

"It's their territory," Gaara explained. His voice was casual, perfectly balanced; gliding along the same confident frequency as his gaze, existing in a space where only fools would challenge his stability. It had been a once terrifying countenance, but it was now strangely comforting to his older siblings. An immovable spire in a towering sea of calamity. "The mission's been changed and the prime objectives have been lost. Since the hiring party should be including them they'll have final say if there is an allegiance."

Gaze directed skywards, Kankuro shook his head. "Son of a bitch. Well this is going to be spectacular. Last thing I want is to wind up dying because some Leafie is supposed to have my back."

Temari rolled her eyes. "I'm sure they think highly of you too."

"Oh, as if your worldview of these clowns is just full of muscular titans dancing about golden killing fields. Please."

Arcing an eyebrow, Temari turned her head to look at Kankuro. "What the hell sort of analogy was that?"

"Dammit, I had this great insult but I just couldn't word it properly. Shut up."

Temari nodded skeptically. "Uh huh. Oh, and while we're at it. . ." A devious grin began to form across her feathery lips. "I remember you fighting one of the Leafies a while ago. Shino or something? The kid with bugs inside his skin?"

Kankuro's expression darkened. "Stop talking right now."

With a mocking pat, Temari stepped closer to her brother. "You remember what happened?"

Kankuro shrugged her hand off his shoulder. "Yes, and there's no need for you tell me since we both remember exactly what happened."

"You lost."

"What did I just say?" Kankuro was gripped with the sudden urge to inflict violence upon inanimate objects. "And that was a one-time thing! I was having an off day!"

"You'd probably be best not to underestimate them," Gaara added. He shrugged, his concern over the subject considerably less than that of his brother's. "We all lost to them."

Temari laughed. "Game, set, match."

As they exited a final patch of towering oaks, the grandeur of Konoha sprawled before them. The stream weaving off to the side like a pulsing blue vein, dropping down to reveal an eclectic labyrinth of buildings intertwined underneath the watchful eye of chiseled stone faces looking down upon the valley from the mountain above. A smooth wall entombing the village like arms of the mountain holding it snug, the gates being its hands, fingers uncoiled to allow passage. In some ways it was similar to their hometown, Suna, and in others it was completely different: much less symmetrical, almost random, and seething with a myriad of different colors.

Being in a sour mood, Kankuro found it an easy target. "Kind of a weird village, too—and how narcissistic is it to have your head sculpted into the damn mountain?"

Temari's sigh was exaggerated. "Is there anything on this planet that _doesn't_ cause you to complain?"

"Of course there is. All I'm saying is that the ninjas from Fire are pretty backwards. I mean just look at their town: full of bright yellow buildings, surrounded by green forests. That's _great_ camouflage. Way to blend into the surroundings, team."

With unconcealed frustration, Temari punched Kankuro's shoulder. "Kankuro, shut up. Maybe you don't like this village, but I do."

Gaara's pale green eyes absorbed the vision before him. "So do I."

Kankuro sighed, adjusting the sling holding Karasu on his back. "_Fine_. Forget I said anything."

Their approach to the gates themselves was much more subdued than their previous visit to Konoha. Then they had barreled through the forest along the rims of the trees, escorting their wounded makeshift allies back to their homeland to receive immediate treatment for terminal injuries. Before that had been a tense entry: a surreptitious infiltration of the Leaf village in order to lay in wait to ambush its unsuspecting populace. As the soft dirt crunched beneath their feet, weapons and backpacks slung over their shoulders, the sand trio entered Konoha for a third time—a peaceful meeting that was strange but not entirely unwelcome.

Leaning against the wooden gate, Hagane stood chatting with a fellow guardsman. Catching them from the corner of his eye he turned, greeting them with a lazy wave and a smile. "Hello and good afternoon. Welcome to Konoha."

The three of them stopped just underneath the giant stone archway, peering within from the threshold. A soft breeze joined with them, rippling waves through their hair and clothing, bringing with it the smells of the village within: ramen stands, fish, perfumes, sharpened metals, sawdust, grassy fields, beaten earth, running water, humanity. It was simple. It was soothing.

Temari raised her hand in greeting. "Heyas."

Hagane glanced briefly at the dark-clad trio, recognizing them from previous encounters. "Nice to see you three again. I'm assuming you're the three Suna's sent to retrieve your Sensei?"

Temari grinned. "That's us!"

Hagane nodded, gesturing to the Chuunin sentry behind him with a tilt of his head. "Alrighty—standard procedure then, please step aside to be scanned for imitation genjutsus and to register any and all weapons you will be bringing into Konoha. My partner here will help with your registry."

Kankuro hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought, before swinging a bandaged Karasu around. The ragged cotton bandages made contact with the rusty soil, and he took a long moment to analyze his mummified puppet. An interior conflict frothing across his razor-nerves as he ran his fingertips along the dry and frayed threads. Eventually he looked up at Hagane, a defeated sigh passing through him. "I don't suppose you would've heard anything on Baki-sensei's condition out here?"

Both Gaara and Temari stopped in their movements to remove their respective weaponry, eyeing Kankuro. Although shielded by the nebulous stratum of his cynical and anti-social demeanor, his concern for the few close companions he kept wasn't lessened simply because he was awkward in its expression. Their thoughts not too far from his, they then glanced over at Hagane expectantly, interested in his answer.

Hagane shrugged. "Last I heard they managed to stabilize the bleeding from his lower back. Hokage-sama apparently tended to his injuries herself and managed to mend most of the internal wounds, so from what I understand he's going to be okay. It'll just be a slow recovery process." His face softened in sympathy. "He was hit with a pretty potent genjutsu. . . there's traces of some psychological damage, but they haven't ascertained how much yet."

"That's heavy. Damn. . ." Temari muttered, bringing her battle-fan down onto the ground with a solid crunch. "Thanks."

Hagane nodded. "Once you three are all set here I'm told to instruct you to head on over to the main offices at the far end of the village."

Gaara looked at him blandly. "For?"

"The man that hired Baki, his name was Kurama Nagare, wasn't it?"

Temari shrugged her small backpack off her shoulders. She began to lightly massage her taut neck muscles with one hand, wincing slightly. "Sounds about right. He in town?"

"Yes, he's expecting you along with Hokage-sama. Apparently there've been some modifications made to the original mission and you three are being hired to carry them out with a few others from Konoha."

An irritated snort escaped Kankuro, his sandal-toe twisting in the dirt. "I knew it. I freaking _knew_ it."

Temari grinned, punching her brother in the shoulder. "Suck it up, punk."

Rubbing his sore shoulder, Kankuro began muttering a variety of curses as he handed Karasu to the Chuunin sentry for the mandatory inspection. He glared at Temari; loathing every inch of the smug and superior look she was giving him. Dejected and out of options, he turned to Gaara for support, silently pleading for aid against their sister's dominating assertions.

Gaara said nothing.

x x x x x 

An ephemeral mist began to roll in alongside darkening clouds, making Konoha beneath Tsunade appear to be caught in the hazy iris of a blemished lens. Even through the window she could sense the pressure system transfiguring, swelling into a gray cloud as rainfall became imminent. Dew laden wolf-pelt draping the skies. A cool breeze whispered through the screen under the windowsill, filling her senses with an acute aroma: grass, freshly churned soil, liquefying skies. She took a long breath through her nose and the entire village rushed into her.

From the edge of her gaze, she eyed Shizune beside her desk who appeared pensive—her fingers fidgeting with the dossier in her hands, eyes skittering back and forth between Tsunade and the man standing in front of her desk. Tsunade sighed, her attention returning again to the village beneath her view.

Without turning from the window she spoke. "I have to say, I think it's quite a fascinating coincidence that the interception took place only a few clicks from Konoha's borders. In fact I can't help but feel that your interlopers somehow strove to get us involved, given all the previous chances they must've had to attack the convoy."

Kurama Nagare, secretary to the Minister of Foreign Affairs for Mountain Country, stood solemnly a few paces back from Tsunade's lacquered and sprawling desk. His light-brown slacks were trim and matched his polished shoes, complimenting the white dress-shirt and blue vest he wore above them. Although of a position of considerable political rank, his face was youthful, a municipal anomaly accentuated by his rather messy brown hair. He cut a mostly professional but docile physique.

White-gloved hands linked behind his back, he nodded at Tsunade. "As you say. It also may have well been taken as an advantageous location to engage since the convoy probably would not have suspected an attack so close to another hidden village."

Scanning his face, Shizune spoke with a detached scrutiny. "Have you any idea who might've been behind the raid?"

"Technically? No. Odds are it was a group of hired ninjas. Whether or not they were freelance or of a separate hidden village remains to be seen, but initial investigations would suggest a small crew of shinobi." Kurama shrugged, returning his gaze to Tsunade's back. "As to whomever _hired_ them, well, there are quite a few potential suspects. Nothing concrete yet."

Tsunade saw her faint reflection in the glass scowl. "Given that Baki was nearly killed in the attack the question of whether or not ninjas were involved is invalidated for obvious reasons. What I want to know is why they decided to attack the carrier right on our doorstep, and why the bodies of the couriers are missing. Only the three ninjas from Sand were left behind. I'd have assumed they'd be after the cargo and would have left the others for dead."

"Yes. Well, regarding that. . ." Kurama seemed to pause, carefully choosing his next few words. "The couriers have most likely been taken prisoner. You see, the cargo itself was stolen. The attacking ninjas were most likely on a retrieval mission."

Shizune's eyebrows rose. "What?"

Kurama nodded. "It was part of the mission parameters assigned to Baki. The individuals I represent who have been abducted are political renegades. About fifteen days ago they infiltrated an assembly hearing and made off with several documents of governmental financial data." He shrugged. "Tax audits, social expenditures like law officials' pension spreadsheets, transaction receipts for construction equipment. . . things like that. From what I understand it was an attempt to slight the National Treasury by altering and then leaking the documents so they'd come under fire from the public."

"I see," Tsunade commented dryly. "And I suppose your 'association' with these men would be. . . unofficial, then."

"Yes. In any event of discovery I disavow all knowledge of their existence to my countrymen."

Tsunade snorted. Although often regarded as simple instruments of warfare, her view of soldiers and ninja was considerably more benevolent: she believed in camaraderie and loyalty. She loathed the self-perpetuating agendas of most politicians because they lacked both. "Tch. . . Have to love government black-ops and the paper-thin allegiances that go with them. The state of Mountain Country must really be a mess."

Kurama said nothing for a moment. Then, "There are a lot of people who want change. Myself included."

Tsunade's thoughts retracted to the immediately tangible—her gaze over the town poured through eyes seeing but not watching. She took particular offense to being strong-armed into accepting a mission due to extenuating circumstances. It left her with a dwindling measure of control, caught in a flow she could not resist or completely analyze. With a sigh, she turned to face Kurama. She crossed her arms. "I'd like to just point out I feel you're twisting my arm, here."

Kurama nodded. "I'm sorry," he apologized. It sounded genuine. Tsunade doubted it was. "I don't like making entrapment requests, but myself and my superiors are at an impasse."

"Of course. After all, we're simply tools to be used at the world's convenience."

Shizune blinked, head twirling to face the Hokage. "Tsunade-sama!"

Kurama's passive demeanor remained statuesque. "Please. . . I can understand your irritation, but try to see things from my point of view. I only want what's best for my country. I'm not here to achieve that at the expense of yours, either. Drastic times call for drastic measures and all that." A quiet emotion bathed within his voice. "The fact is we _need_ your help. Without this mission there almost certainly will be a civil conflict that our country can't afford to endure right now."

Tsunade sat down in her chair, plush leather stretching in ragged protest. She shrugged, leaning back. "Yes, I understand. Although I'm still not entirely convinced. There are too many peculiar elements to this incident and you're being, no offense, really annoyingly secretive about everything. So I have to take into consideration the element of potential sabotage." Her eyes narrowed. "Even if you are holding a proximity and location clause over my head."

Quietly, Kurama spoke. "So you aren't going to help."

"Didn't say that," she countered, her head tilting. "I've already sent for someone. Although because of the parameters, even if this is an A-Class request, I'm going to keep the personnel involved down to a minimum. Him and another of his choice, tops. Along with the three from Suna that should be plenty."

Kurama seemed to brighten slightly. "Jonin class?"

A sudden mortar blast of scorn ruptured Tsunade's thoughts, irate reaction to his eagerness to be given jurisdiction over her elite ninja. She met his heightened interest with a hard glare. "Not a chance. I told you—I'm not risking my best available people on what looks like on all fronts to be an ambush. In case you hadn't noticed, we're still recuperating here ourselves."

Kurama sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not setting you up, Hokage-sama. And I'm sorry I was forced to use proximity as a leverage board."

"'Leverage board'?" Tsunade inquired, tone afloat on the sewage of anger. Her eyes widened as her fingers interlocked in her lap. "More like _coercion._" She closed her eyes for a moment, running silky emotional hands over her trembling discomfort and apprehension, easing herself back onto a stable ground. She looked at him again, her ire lessened. "No, like I said, I understand. And I'm hardly sending someone incompetent. I trust his judgment and skill." Her hands lay flat on the armrests of her chair as she elected against cushioning her next words. "Just appreciate that I don't like you and you can only twist my political arm so much. The image of this village is very important to me, but it's _not_ as important as the village itself. Remember that."

Before either of them could continue, a trio of knocks at the door interrupted them. Shizune quickly moved from her position beside Tsunade to the other side of the room, opening the door with a soft click. Standing before them with his hands in his pockets was Shikamaru, a disinterested look masking his face. Tsunade felt oddly grateful to see him. As he stepped beyond the threshold, she noticed a brief eye contact made between Shikamaru and Kurama—she wondered what kind of analysis Shikamaru would draw. He was incredibly perceptive, almost staggeringly so. His intuition and intelligence superceded almost everyone in the village, and she became curious what kind of thoughts he would have on the situation as a whole.

Shikamaru stepped into the office, Shizune closing the door behind him. His lazy eyes met Tsunade's. "You called for me, Hokage-sama?"

Tsunade found herself smiling as she addressed the Chuunin. "Yes, I did. Thanks for responding so quickly." She cheerfully pivoted away from the previous subject. "How's your class doing?"

He shrugged. "They're alright. . . rowdy as hell. But they're trying. Mostly."

"At least you seem to be enjoying yourself," Tsunade observed with a grin.

An ironic half-smile caught his features, and he spoke in a sarcastic monotone. "I am overflowing with joy because every day is a treasure made just for me."

Tsunade laughed. "Welcome to my world, kiddo." She could tell Kurama was becoming slightly irritated at being removed from the discussion and ignored. It gave her an evil thrill, buzzing through her mind like a child constructing a prank and then waiting in the shadows to watch it unfold on a hapless victim. Still smiling, she leaned back in her chair. "Anyways, to business."

Shikamaru's lethargic demeanor evaporated, and he stood at attention, hands at his sides.

Tsunade gestured blandly to Kurama. "Shikamaru, this is Kurama Nagare. A diplomatic emissary of Mountain Country, with the Foreign Affairs bureau. He has a mission for you."

x x x x x 

He knew from everything she had told him that she had told him nothing.

Stepping out of Tsunade's office, Shikamaru made a brief glance at the two sentries standing beside the door. Hands returning to his pockets he took a casual step forward, watching the gathering silver clouds through the window across the hall with a furrowed brow. Distantly he could hear light conversation from the other end of the curving corridor, but it came to his thoughts as a muffled code he chose not to interpret. He found himself turning and walking slowly towards the exit, his previous discussion carving fractured and incomplete symbols into his imagination, logic trying to decipher and extrapolate their iconology.

Information was being withheld. Of that he was certain. Tsunade's orders were very terse and nondescript; a duality that the Hokage never once had implemented when issuing him a mission before. She was very analytical and precise. In all the times he had reported to her or been briefed, she would take time to painstakingly scour every granule of information so he would not be left with any mysterious empty folds that he had to ascertain himself in the field. But this mission was enveloped in such holes: a contract forged in perforated ink.

His teeth came down soft at the edge of her lower lip. She was lying to him. Withholding information was the equivalent of a falsehood, Shikamaru figured—but then, there was the possibility that she was dispossessed of such information herself. He shook his head. That was an impossibility. The exoskeletal patchwork the mission was framed upon was dislocated and cracked—if what she had told him was truly all she knew, she would not have accepted the mission in the first place. And even if she had, she would not have assigned a simple Chuunin to spearhead the deployment.

Shikamaru blinked. _Of course,_ he realized. _She's playing dog and pony. She _expects _me to fill in the blanks. . . . Great. She's tossing me to starving wolves with nothing other than my wits to escape. Thanks for this, Hokage-sama._

His sandals clapped quietly across the marble floor. It all began with that Kurama individual. There was unquestionable animosity pouring from Tsunade that was easy to detect: the way she spoke of him, the way she spoke _to_ him, the offhand undermining of his political authority, and the darkened glare she thrust upon him every few moments. Perhaps he was an old acquaintance of hers that she owed money. Hokage-sama owed a lot of people money. But that made no distance in discerning why she was keeping information from Shikamaru.

Shikamaru blinked, coming to a full stop. He stood at the top of the stairs leading into the lobby as realization illuminated portions of the obscured details in his thoughts. _He's forcing her into this,_ he discovered. _I don't know how yet, but he has something on her. Or perhaps on Konoha. That would go a long way to explain why I'm being sent to lead this group instead of a Jonin. . . she doesn't trust the mission itself enough to waste elites. So she sends cannon fodder like me to do the dirty work instead. Only two Konoha ninja? Yeah. . . suicide mission alright._

He scowled. _Thanks again for that, too_._ Tyrannical bitch. . . _

But he also suspected it was more than that. He knew Tsunade had faith in his abilities. Perhaps he wasn't the most technically proficient shinobi in the village, or one who possessed the most stamina, or the most experience. In all those ways he was a fairly mediocre soldier upon reflection. But he could _think_. Even when thrown amid high-ranking ninja like Jonin or ANBU he could operate on a level of intelligence most of them couldn't keep up with. Analysis, estimation and strategic implementation were the areas Shikamaru excelled at, well beyond mediocre and even good. He was fantastic.

_So that's it. I'm not being sent off to die, I'm being sent off to figure out _why_ I'm being sent off. Because she doesn't know herself_. _And the team is being kept to a minimum for the sake of appearance because she knows I'll pick the most adequate person after evaluating the skills of the Sand-nins._ His fingertips touched gently upon the lacquered handrail on the stone staircase. _So that means this is really two missions in one: the frontal assignment, but also the ostensible. . . to do what we were hired to do, and to investigate those who hired us to do it. _

That complicated things.

Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Shikamaru sighed. "How. . . very troublesome."

Fading sunlight smeared across the granite floor within the lobby. The shifting clouds outside caused murky, shapeless shadows to undulate in inimitable sky-patterns along the shiny surface, like the eddying of a still water surface after a hand glided through. As the door opened a warm rush of air infiltrated, carrying the scent of imminent rainfall. The scent brought Shikamaru out of his thoughts for a moment, and in doing so made the conversation he had tuned out earlier audible.

He blinked, recognizing Sakura's voice from across the lobby.

". . . Training's going okay," she said, her voice sounding tired. "It's a lot different than combat training, though. I get tired pretty quickly using the medical jutsu so I end up sleeping a lot. It's not really all that fun, but it's rewarding in its own fashion. At least. . . you know, I'll be of use this way. For the next time. I'll be ready."

Shikamaru looked across the large room to see Sakura and Ino standing beside the registration desk, talking amongst themselves.

Ino had an awkward expression on her face. "I guess. . . you must get kinda bored without that guy around."

Sakura looked as if she hadn't slept in days. "Hmm? Naruto, you mean?"

"Yeah. That twit." Ino fidgeted slightly, a gesture Shikamaru recognized that indicated she was uncomfortable with what she was discussing. "I hate to admit it, but things are definitely a little bit more. . . dull here without him to do something weird or interesting."

Sakura shrugged. "True enough. That's he's a twit, I mean." Ino moved to interrupt and force Sakura to elaborate, but Sakura forged ahead before she could. "And that I miss him, I guess." She sighed, shaking her head. "What am I saying? Of course I miss him. He's my friend."

Ino laughed softly. "Who would have thought? After everything."

"Well not me. Not back then." Sakura smiled. "But here I am."

Shikamaru knew he was to choose a second ninja to join his mission of his own discretion. In a routine situation his first choice would have been Chouji, and failing that, Ino. They were his cell—his team, his comrades, the feet to his arms and the actions to his commands. With them he was most comfortable since they had spent so much time training together and their abilities complemented each other; combat transformed from carnal and shapeless chaos to a tranquil pulsing of manifold rhythm. But this was not a routine circumstance. He already had an idea of who the three Sand-nin were going to be given Tsunade's vague references, and while Ino would have been his preferred choice, he doubted whether or not it would be the right one.

In that moment he decided who the final team member was to be.

_Better slip out before she sees me,_ he figured. _Don't really feel like explaining why I'm not going to take her. . . especially if she figures out who I _will _be taking. That'll be way too troublesome. _

His plans were thwarted the moment he stepped away from the stairs into the swimming light by the doors and Ino caught sight of him.

She blinked, then waved cheerfully. "Hey, Shikamaru-kun! How goes it?"

He suppressed a sigh. _Dammit. . ._ He forced himself to turn and face the two girls. "Oh. Ino. Hey."

The two of them walked over to him, both with pleasant expressions on their face. The antithesis of his own.

"How's class going for you?" Sakura asked.

He shrugged. "Troubling. They keep making these annoying _talky_ noises."

"Kids tend to do that," Ino said. She poked him with her index finger. "So where you off to? Get a mission?"

He realized there was no way to avoid telling her truth without coming off as being openly secretive. He tried anyways. "Hmm. . . maybe."

Ino blinked at his evasiveness, noticing his frown was a bit more intense than usual. "You okay? You seem kinda. . . off. Even for you."

"Thanks."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious."

"Want me to take a look at you?" Sakura inquired lightly. "I know I'm hardly Tsunade-sama, but I'm getting better."

He took a moment to look at Sakura. With the sky clouding the smeared light poisoned the fragile glow of her pink hair, fragments of strange shadows moving across her pallid face. Although she was smiling her entire demeanor was an echo; a hollowed and smashed vessel of the happiness and cheer she used to embody. He felt sorry for her. Her cell had splintered—her two closest friends shorn by a terrible rift, leaving their bonds that took so long to meticulously construct in a torn and aching ruin. But he could do nothing for her, and it almost hurt to look at her.

"No thanks," he said, glancing at his watch, finding meeting her eyes difficult. "I'm feeling alright. Just have some stuff to think about."

Ino half-grinned. "Heh, it _is_ a mission, isn't it?"

He sighed. "Yeah. A-Rank."

Ino's eyes widened. She took a moment to digest that before asking, "Who with?"

"Some Sand goons."

Ino's nose wrinkled. "Ew."

"I bet I can guess who they are," Sakura joked.

"I bet you can," he replied. He felt immediately regretful for how callous his words were, but he wasn't the type to retract something he said. Even if he she did appear less than she once was, he suspected from what he did know of her that she'd resent him more if he coddled her by treating her differently. An awkward silence elongated between the three, and Shikamaru took that as his cue. "Look, I've got to start getting into gear since they put me in charge of this death-march, so I've got to go."

Ino sighed. "Sure. . ." She looked at him, an unreadable inquisition hiding in her eyes. She crossed her arms. "You know, we haven't trained together in forever. I miss hanging out with you. How long are you gonna be gone?"

He missed her, too. But then he missed a lot of things he had taken for granted. He supposed that was less a part of being a ninja and more a part of being a human being. The acknowledgement of affection made his next words more difficult. "Indefinitely. No ETA on when we'll be back home. . . hopefully soon but probably not." He looked at her apologetically. "It's—well, complicated."

"Oh." She didn't appear crushed, but he knew she was still somewhat sad. He felt the same: after everyone had observed what happened to Team Seven all the other teams seemed to grow closer intrinsically by some unconscious gravity. Observing the collapse of others was motivation to preserve one's own solidarity. Ino smiled anyways. "Well, take care, okay?"

So did Sakura. "Yeah, good luck!"

"Thanks," he said. The little children ran within his thoughts; absence chewing at his sharply honed emotional pillars, their faces and voices twirling in his chasm with fading echoes. He could very well die on this mission. He could very well never see Ino or Sakura again. It wasn't the first time he'd had those thoughts, but before the concept of death and separation were alien artifacts he never had to unearth. Now. . .

The feeling was much like the children, only amplified. Radiating across the rugged terrain of his intuitive topography, crushing the visceral convolutions with an imploding horizon. He would call it fear, but it wasn't quite that. He decided it was purpose. A reason to avoid death and maintain the structure of togetherness.

An expression too small to be called a smile and too honest to be called anything else pulled at his face. "See you guys."

x x x x x 

Warmth shed from the sun-baked stones lining the walkway to Hokage's tower, ethereal waves swaying like plants along an ocean floor. Trimmed grass combed backwards as a stiff breeze whisked across the tower entrance, a lingering sound reflecting a rolling sea-wave. Gaara stood with his arms crossed, narrowed eyes gazing upwards at the sculpted faces in the mountain above. His seemingly diverted attention was still intensely focused; his indifference allowed him a position of detachment and mystery, granting him a personal and disconnected scrutiny that would otherwise be lost.

Kurama Nagare stood before the three Sand-nins, arms crossed behind his back. A low rumble of distant thunder crawled across the dim and billowing sky. People began to hasten their retreat to their homes, the street behind them beginning to empty with increased magnitude.

With a breath, Kurama continued speaking. "Unfortunately, due to the existence of minor differentiations between separate countries in their methodology regarding contract drafting and implementation, I was left with few options aside from signing the mission over to Hokage-sama of Konoha. I hope you understand. It was for the best interests of all parties involved. Otherwise an entirely new set of papers would have to be drawn up and then shipped between the countries involved that could take weeks to sort through, which is time we simply don't possess."

"Pff," Kankuro scoffed.

Temari shrugged. "I suppose it can't be avoided. . . when they blindsided Baki-sensei and the others in Konoha's own backyard it would reflect poorly on their own international image to simply stand aside. Still. . ." she paused, face contorting as she chose her words. "Well. . . even with all that, it does kind of seem. . ."

"Stupid," Kankuro finished for her.

"To put it simply," Temari agreed.

"I apologize," Kurama relented, his calm gaze shifting between the three of them. Wind ruffled his messy hair. "Given my position I had no choice but to include Konoha, and I couldn't simply sublet the contract without having to step through some irritating and time consuming red tape that would hinder the investigation and pursuit. I didn't do this to subjugate your assistance or authority, so please don't think that. My superiors are a long way out of reach."

There was a lengthy and uncomfortable silence as Temari fixated a spiteful, ragged stare on the politician. Eventually she said, "So. . . basically. . ."

"Yes?"

". . . This whole scenario you've unfolded is all some play at bringing the international presence of your country into public consciousness at the expense of _our_ diplomatic stability? And then interfering with our pre-existing judiciary process by wrenching in bizarre and nebulous technicalities just so we're forced to meet your definition of _expedience_?" A treacherous grin mangled Temari's internal emotive landscape as she took sinister indulgence in the surprised expression draping Kurama's face. He hadn't been expecting her to reveal such articulation and insight, and she knew it. More than anything, Temari hated being underestimated.

She snorted. "Hmph. . . don't look at me like that. I might only be sixteen, but don't forget we are the children of the highest Suna hierarchy. I've spent my life around politicians and bureaucrats. I've grown up surrounded by shallow and partisan pencil-pushers just like you." Her lips twisted in a perverse sneer. "I'm not even going to pretend to _try_ lying to you. You make me sick. We're not game pieces."

Kurama sighed. He was familiar with being unpopular, but that didn't make it any easier. "I'm sorry. And this 'scenario' you describe wasn't my concoction; I am simply trying to adapt to the changing situation as quickly as possible. If I fall behind, the lives of the people I'm trying to protect are undoubtedly forfeit. I can't let that happen."

Temari wasn't entirely convinced. "Yeah. I'm sure that's the case."

"Please," Kurama said tiredly, his voice allowing the fact he'd slept for only a handful of hours over the last few weeks to enter his tone. "This must happen. I don't expect you like me for it. I don't even ask that you do. But this is what needs to be done. I just want what is best for my country. Surely you can understand that?"

Kankuro snorted. "We don't need your charity mission. There are other missions we can do right now from people who _really_ need legitimate help. If your so-called 'best intentions' are your only selling point, shove your stupid contract up your ass and get lost."

Temari blinked at his caustic demand, frowning at her brother. "Kankuro!"

"No, I'm serious," he affirmed. His arms were crossed, and his cynical gaze was directed at Temari rather than Kurama. "I _refuse_ to be tossed like a fucking sandbag to hold back some political flood for a country that doesn't have the decency to even come out and _say_ to our face when they're screwing us over. Forget it. . . I've got better things to waste my time on."

Gaara spoke. "It's not that simple."

Having been silent for the entirety of the conversation, the others started slightly at Gaara's entrance—Kurama obviously, Temari and Kankuro less so. His voice was calm and devoid of feeling, instinctively evacuated from the immediate moment. The cold machinery of his words churned its frosty cogs against his older siblings, reminding them adroitly to maintain an emotionless template. His ice-green stare continued to distantly scan the faces along the mountainside with eyes not made for watching.

Kankuro sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why not?"

Temari's previous ire slain, she nodded solemnly at the annoyed puppeteer. "He's right. . . it isn't. Maybe you weren't paying attention when Baki-sensei received the summons, but _I_ was. They pulled the same garbage on Suna that they're doing to Konoha now. They used a proximity incident to force involvement."

Kankuro, still annoyed despite Gaara's subtle reminder, gaped at her. "This shit flies? That's. . . blackmail, or—jeez, _something_!"

"It's not—" Kurama started.

"I wasn't talking to you," Kankuro spat. "So shut your damn mouth."

"Kankuro," Temari sighed.

With an exasperated groan, Kankuro rolled his eyes. "_What_?"

Thunder ebbed across the wind with the resonance of falling rocks. Gaara's voice was a muffled echo in its wake. "It's procedure. If an independent act of violence happens within a certain distance of a hidden village between foreign groups the village is required to intervene in some capacity." His gaze finally turned towards those surrounding him, an empty glance ensnared on his older brother. He looked at Kankuro directly and said, "It's not that difficult to understand."

Temari's face softened as she watched Kankuro. It wasn't as if she disagreed with any of his protests or sentiments. "And our alliance with Leaf is still new and fragile. It's to be expected they'd go to as much length as possible to assist us—which in this case means unifying the mission. It's dumb, but that's the world for you."

Kankuro paused for a long moment, feeling caught between Temari and Gaara. Finally he shook his head, staring up at the shifting heavens. ". . . This is ridiculous. You know that? Completely insane." He scoffed, an irritated and powerless sound. "Goddamn bureaucracies. . . you know, this is the kind of shit that makes gray spaces. This shouldn't be about _saving face_, it should be about Sensei and the people he practically died trying to protect."

"And it still is," Kurama supplied. He maintained diplomacy in spite of their intense dislike of him and his methods. He had seen worse. "They must be found. Their safe return is my sole intent."

Kankuro rolled his eyes. "Not _your_ people. . . the two Genins not even a year out of the academy who were on what was probably their first C-Rank mission who were goddamn _butchered_." He stared hard at Kurama. "Yeah. I heard what happened to them. They couldn't even piece them back together if they wanted to. And I'm just supposed to forget about that? You have stupid priorities."

Temari's hand fell on Kankuro's shoulder softly. "Hey now. We'll get on top of things. Stop being a baby."

He glared at her but did not reply. Of the three of them, Kankuro had been closest to Baki—it was easy for Temari and Gaara to understand his raw and serrated reactions to the increasingly complicated situation. Kankuro had a fairly rough and cynical personality to begin with, but he was also openly hostile when provoked and uncertain of himself or his situation. It didn't help that Temari refused to coddle him and that Gaara wasn't exactly a reservoir of empathy. But the three of them had become accustomed to their own antisocial vices, and if nothing else were used to such behavior.

In the ensuing silence, Kurama glanced briefly at his watch. "Well. . . I'm certain the Chuunin Hokage-sama delegated to group with you will be here shortly. I spoke with him briefly. . . a shrewd kind of person. Kind of young, but I suppose he has his wits about him. Hokage-sama seems to hold his abilities in high esteem, so he should be up to the task."

Temari's hand fell from Kankuro's shoulder. "Yeah, well. . . we'll see about that."

Kurama nodded. "Very well then. . . he has all the information about the mission and he'll brief you on the specifics, I'm sure." He bowed to them slightly. "So then. Good day, and good luck."

"Yeah," Temari replied simply. Kankuro and Gaara said nothing.

Without elongating the moment further, Kurama stepped aside onto the cobblestone path leading into the village and briskly strode away from the three of them. Their guarded and analytical stares followed his retreating form as he plunged into the waning crowd that scurried across the rust-soil streets. After a moment he was gone, faded into the city.

Kankuro broke the silence in his absence. "Prick."

Temari had stepped back from Kankuro, her eyes then tracing the scattered lines of the village rooftops. Her voice was quietly detached when she spoke. "He's just doing his job. I'm sure he doesn't like it any more than we do."

Kankuro looked at her. "Spare me. You were ready to tear him a new one there for a second, too."

She smiled awkwardly. "A slip."

"Whatever," Kankuro replied, unconvinced. His arms folded and he took in a sharp breath. "If he were such a great guy, he wouldn't be going out of his way to _force_ us into solving his country's problems for them. That whole 'proximity' thing reeks of _whining_."

Temari rolled her eyes. "Hey. Here's an idea: try thinking for a second before you open your damn mouth."

Kankuro glared at her. "The hell? Say that again!"

"What about Baki-sensei? Don't you want to investigate what happened?"

Kankuro kicked the dirt at his feet. "Do you have to ask?"

She looked at him, her expression probing and merciless. "Do you have any _better_ ideas how to go about doing that?"

Kankuro was silent for a long moment as his siblings gauged his reaction. The cooling breeze twisted through their bodies, and Kankuro's frown deepened: his face reflecting a maroon labyrinth as the markings across his skin wrinkled and misaligned. ". . . No. Well. . . _no_. But it's still crap. I just. . . don't. Dammit." He sighed, annoyed with himself. He looked up at Temari briefly. "I don't like being forced into it, alright?"

"Fair enough," she conceded. She smiled at him condescendingly. "Just pay attention while we're out there and maybe you won't make a fool of yourself again."

Kankuro snorted, but didn't reply. The circumstances surrounding any mission were generally irrelevant to a ninja, so both Temari and Gaara understood that Kankuro's frustration was less the result of being manipulated into action rather than the cause of their involvement in the first place. It didn't help matters that the mission command had been handed over to Konoha, obliterating any control the three of them could have possessed over the situation. Powerlessness bred antipathy. Kankuro shoved his hands in his pockets, stifling another growl.

Casually observing his brother, Gaara's eyes twitched slightly at the presence of a silhouette in his peripheral. His eyes darted to the side, expression unchanging, to monitor someone approaching the three of them after exiting the tower. Even within the dim shade overhanging the patch of grass he walked across, familiarity awoke in Gaara's mind as he put a name to the person's face. He turned slightly, sandals scraping against the loose gravel at his feet.

He blinked once, slowly. "Nara Shikamaru."

Temari's head perked up, and she turned around. "Heh. Well I'll be damned. . ."

Kankuro sighed. "That tool? _He's_ the 'shrewd kind of person'? For the love of. . ."

"Quit bitchin'," Temari said.

With his attention clearly elsewhere, Shikamaru casually walked over to the three Sand-nins. His hands were in his pockets, arms craned with a soft bend at the elbows. His eyes were watching the edges of his toes as they swung out in front of him with each step, his brow furrowed in obvious contemplation. The edge of his right incisor overlapped his lip as he bit down gently, and Temari almost laughed at the irritation resonating from him that was practically tangible. His shuffling feet stopped carrying him when he reached them near the street.

He looked up at them, his expression weakening to a lazy stare. "I had a hunch, but. . . well, I guess seeing you is proof enough." He shrugged. "Things are looking up, even if they aren't."

Temari grinned, giving him the once-over with her eyes. "You're in good hands now, I can assure you. Looking sharp, crybaby."

He scoffed. "Yeah." He met Kankuro and then Gaara's gaze, then immediately began the briefing without preamble. "I'm not really one for pleasantries, so let's get right to it. Your Sensei's mission's been hijacked by a stuffy shirt who's backing some fugitives and has now tinkered with the situation enough to get both our villages involved. I'm thinking that he set the route up so the carriage would cross right by both our villages and planned an attack both times to force our hand."

"Old news," Kankuro stated.

Temari nodded. "Yeah, get with the program crybaby." She crossed her arms, her eyes closing sagely. "Maybe here in Leaf ninjas are left out of the loop, but we're all up to date on every shred of the latest info. Our information network is elite and top-cell. Might be time for an intelligence upgrade."

Shikamaru was quiet, blinking awkwardly. "You already know? How?"

"Kurama Nagare just discussed the situation briefly with us," Gaara answered.

Shikamaru frowned. "What. . .?"

Kankuro made a clearly annoyed sound at the back of his throat. "See? Shrewd my _ass_. Glad to see we're being left in capable hands. Should I just bend over now and save us the ceremony?"

Temari glared at Kankuro before turning back to Shikamaru. "Reserves running low? Need a nap? Or are you just having an off day?"

". . . That's impossible," Shikamaru finally said. His face was uncharacteristically pale, a dull white skin-sheet draping a hyper-analyzing nexus that churned with cerebral machinery to decode the circumstances. His voice was quiet, as if he was talking to himself. "I left before he did. He's no ninja. . . how could he have. . ." He stopped himself, shaking his head. He pressed the flat of his palm between his closed eyes. "Tired. . . alright." His arm fell and he looked at the three of them blandly. "Basic facts then. We're all in this together, I'm in charge, and I've been told to pick another ninja from Konoha. If you have a problem with that, get in line. Yes, the arrangement is troublesome, and yes, I don't like it either. But for right now it's all we can do, so bear with me. There's still a lot of things to go over, so I'd rather meet up after I talk to the potential fifth member so I don't have explain things twice. I hate having to repeat myself."

Shikamaru trailed off as he began to scan the streets around them. After a moment he began to pad the pouches along his Chuunin vest with his hands, searching them for something specific. Although the three Suna-nins had encountered him only a handful of times, they were familiar enough with him to recognize his behavior as being abnormally secretive. Kankuro took some relief in his distracted behavior because it indicated he was as confounded by their situation as they were.

Temari watched Shikamaru's self-probe, eyes glinting with a strange humor. "You're a little young to be hitting the cigs, Shikamaru-kun. . ."

Shikamaru ignored her joke and finally looked back at them. "Anyone have a pen?"

There was the sound of an aerated swirling, softly scraping the empty air. Pale sand fibers reached out around Gaara, drawing the attention of Shikamaru. There was an obvious stiffening in his posture at the noise, and for a moment actual fear ripped across the Chuunin's eyes in the form of a glossy wraith. However, instead of attacking, Gaara coalesced the particle-tendrils into a miniature form: a pencil forged from simulated graphite and stone. The object hovered for a moment in between the four.

Shikamaru swallowed, pausing before reaching to grab the levitating pencil. "Thanks. . ." His eyes never left Gaara's as his fingers coiled around the object.

Gaara contacted the interrogating view as if it were a physical thing; Shikamaru's obvious discomfort transcribed a meticulous scrutiny to his surroundings, senses and perceptions heightened with the paranoia stimulus. Gaara wasn't unfamiliar with such a look from other people, having been such an embodiment of dread before. He suspected Shikamaru was coming to terms with relating the Gaara he remembered from previous encounters—a bloodthirsty human rampage bred on the smell and lust of harboring death—and the Gaara that stood before him right then. Something new, foreign: mysterious and deadly, but. . . something further, something different.

Gaara finally spoke. "Is something wrong?"

Shikamaru frowned slightly at the sound of his voice, his eyes then moving away. ". . . No." He then withdrew a small pad of paper from one of the pockets of his vest, quickly scribbling a note across its blank surface. When he moved to return Gaara's pencil, he blinked in open surprise when it simply dissolved into sand within his hand. He shook his head, folding the paper and handing it to Gaara. He appraised the three of them again, his aloof features once again smothering his face. "Meet me at that address in exactly—" he glimpsed at his watch, "—two hours from now. I'd rather discuss things out of public earshot. It's a small apartment in the south end of the village."

Temari briefly observed Gaara tuck the note away underneath his burgundy vest, before looking back at Shikamaru. "Your pad?"

He shrugged. "It's good enough. After I pick up the last of our team I'm going to head back here and talk to Hokage-sama, there's a few details I want to go over with her before briefing you guys. So. . . two hours. You fine with that?"

"Yeah," Kankuro said, previously inflamed aggravation cooled. "Why not."

Shikamaru nodded. "Good. See you then."

Without waiting for their replies, he stepped to the side and jogged quickly towards the village streets. Blustering thunder dragged across the universe from a short distance away, black clouds seemingly rushing across the dissolved blue. Temari's soft goodbye was swallowed by the cacophony, and then he was gone.

x x x x x

The words running through Tsunade's thoughts were, _I won't let this be what it seems_.

She sat in the heavy quiet of her office, face drawn in an intuitive emptiness. Faux-Manicured fingernails tapped an off-melody against the arms of her chair with muffled clicks. Behind her eyes were millions of needle-screens, information stored within her memory being scoured with a paradoxical ravenous finesse. Looking out over Konoha in her soft chair, she was watching and not watching. A dark vision turned within, powered by thousand watt obsidian bulbs.

_He'll be back,_ she knew. _He'll understand there's more to this. I picked you for a reason, Shikamaru. Don't let me down. _

Absently Tsunade noted Shizune standing beside her desk, glancing at the Hokage with a restrained expectance. In spite of the logical arguments that could have been made against accepting the mission, Shizune never made them because she understood Tsunade was specifically shielding crucial information from Kurama. Tsunade realized that even though Shizune trusted her implicitly, she would still be worried about Shikamaru's team if all she could assess was the limited information she had.

Tsunade alleviated Shizune's worries. "He's not doing this alone."

"That's good," Shizune said, a cool professionalism suppressing the genuine relief in her voice. "I was beginning to suspect you were abandoning him."

"I wouldn't do that, would I?" Tsunade shook her head, smiling faintly. ". . . Don't answer that." Her expression dissolved. "In fact it's probably good that Secretary Kurama suspects I'm abandoning my ninjas. I'd much rather he believe I was just trying to unload a political obligation with the least amount of sacrifice. Given that our alliance with Suna is still fresh he'll probably suspect that, giving us a little bit more legroom to work in the shadows."

"So you intend to call the mission off, or. . ."

Tsunade shook her head. "No, the mission is on. Sand has been trapped in this whole mess whether they want to or not, and I'd rather maintain our alliance with them. Pulling out now would only damage that. I simply have designs to assist his team, that's all."

"Perhaps the actual mission objective itself is somewhat perilous, but from where I stand this seems like a fairly straightforward assignment." Shizune paused, thinking back on how thoroughly Kurama had angered Tsunade without even breaking a sweat. "Well. . . I suppose maybe a more irritating client than we usually get, but still."

"No. The Mountain's Foreign Minister has put something in motion here and intends to ensnare us along with it."

"Okay. . ." Shizune relented, beginning to revolve into her role as devil's advocate. "Perhaps Secretary Kurama _did_ meddle with the carrier route and then hire an attack squad to destroy it. You heard what he said: they were political renegades."

Tsunade shrugged, her eyes still glazed with an infinite distance. "He also admitted he was backing them. You can't just rule that out. Even if that was a lie it's still a possibility."

"He's a politician. Maybe he's just trying to avoid a scandal? Or maybe he's just trying to side with the rising power in the country?" Shizune felt rather conflicted, although she knew perfectly well her 'feelings' were utterly irrelevant to the final verdict. She also knew that sending ninjas on missions that could end in tragedy was the typifying definition of what a ninja _was_; on the other hand, in spite of Kurama's rather cutthroat tactics, she understood his motives well enough. "Aren't they going through the throes of a pretty violent recession? Their government is falling apart. It's not a big surprise to see people scrambling to find new allies. And they _have_ no ninja village even within a few days travel of their country. Capturing fugitives can be extremely difficult with standard army attack platoons in comparison to hiring shinobi trained specifically in such pursuits."

Tsunade turned her chair and looked up at Shizune with a rather bland expression. "Even from these brief reports and basic facts given by the Suna Council, there's already overwhelming substantiation in proving Secretary Kurama is sabotaging our political infrastructure to tailor to his country's needs. But that's just the problem. It's not clever. It's _transparent_. I don't doubt he's played a hand in orchestrating these scenarios, but I think he's simply a patsy. . . there's just too much on top of him. Kurama is so smothered in guilt that he practically defines innocent." Tsunade shrugged lazily, fully turning her chair to face her sprawling desk. She began to shuffle through a variety of documents in front of her. "A scapegoat, maybe, but a mastermind? Unlikely. But then again, this could all be a ploy simply to get us to _think_ in that direction."

Shizune's left eyebrow arced. "Sounds like you might be grasping at straws."

"Maybe," Tsunade sighed. "But maybe not." Setting aside several dossiers and unlabeled papers, she lifted a light green scroll and began gently unrolling it across the surface of her desk. "I want to show you something. This scroll was delivered by a summoned hawk that arrived a few hours before the attack on the carriage outside of the village."

Shizune watched Tsunade's fingers smoothly caress the paper flat. "And. . .?"

"It's from Suna. It's information regarding Secretary Kurama and some basic intelligence on the current state of Mountain Country from their spies. This arrived _before_ the attack was made. In other words, they were anticipating sabotage, and they were right." Tsunade looked up at Shizune from the corner of her eyes. "Had this scroll gotten here maybe even a bit sooner, we could have thwarted the attack altogether."

Shizune winced. "That still doesn't prove they have malicious intent involving us. I'm sure he was just scared that we might refuse his mission otherwise. I mean, what would he do if we said no? I can understand why he did what he did. I'm not saying I agree with it—because I _don't_—but he doesn't seem to have any intent outside of bettering his country. He said people wanted change."

_Yes, but what kind?_ Tsunade retorted in the silent cathedral of her thoughts. _Bad can be made into _worse_, you know._ Her youthfully old fingertips brushed delicately across the edges of the writing on the scroll like the ghostly brush of a butterfly wings. Scanning across the parchment, further internalizing the information she had already committed to memory. Finding the correct kanji on the tempered scroll, she lifted the paper off of the light cloth it rested upon to find the small pocket stitched underneath. She withdrew three photographs from the tightly bound pocket, and noticed that Shizune's eyes widened slightly as she did.

Tsunade tossed the photos face up onto the desk. "Look at those pictures."

Shizune glanced at them briefly. "So?"

Tsunade's fingers locked together and she rested her chin on them. "On your left, there, that's President of Mountain Country's Treasury Directorate. The middle. . . the Ambassador of International Communications, and the last picture is of Mountain Country's Army 2nd Class General. Those pictures came with this intelligence report from our allies in Suna."

After studying the photos briefly, Shizune met Tsunade's eyes. "I'm. . . guessing they have some sort of involvement in our situation?"

"Yes, in an indirect sense. Less with the attack that happened here and more with _why_ it happened." Tsunade held up three fingers. "They have three things in common. The first and foremost is that they were all advocates for the Impartial Peace and Business Sustenance treaty drafted by a small circle of diplomats that was to bring immense change to the Mountain Country's economy and way of life." Tsunade knew all of the specifics of the treaty as it was contained in Suna's very detailed intelligence report, but decided to leave that unmentioned for the time being. "I won't get into all of it because it's mostly irrelevant to our situation, but the sum of it is that it was a draft that was meant to bring prosperity and commerce into their country as well as crack down on urban violence."

"I see," Shizune nodded. She absently looked at the pictures again. "Obviously this was the 'change' Kurama said the people wanted?"

"I'm getting to that. The second thing they had in common is that they all supercede not only Secretary Kurama's political hierarchy, but also his own superior's rank: the Minster of Foreign Affairs who apparently answers to High Chamberlain Ulema. . . a religious icon with much influence among the people, I'm told. All three of these people here are above her reach of social influence."

Shizune looked up quickly, and Tsunade identified the solidifying comprehension in her eyes. "I think I can see where this is going. Meaning that the third thing is. . ."

Tsunade nodded. "Yes. The last thing they all share in common is they're all dead."

"And recently, I guess."

"Less than a week ago on all three counts. Meaning they all died _after_ these renegades broke into the Treasury and fled their country. By the time they were discovered—all within a thirteen hour time frame—our targets had already been on the move for ten whole days."

Gathering her thoughts, Shizune delayed responding for a few moments. A slight frown brushed her pretty features as she stared down the picture-gaze of the three now-deceased people. Eventually, she said, "And you're suggesting that. . . Kurama, or his superiors, or whateverthat they assassinated these three? That makes even less sense. I thought these people would've been Kurama's and his superiors' heroes? They were pushing for this new peaceful draft and everything?"

Tsunade had to stop herself from scoffing. "Heroes? Taking into consideration what Shikamaru's final objective is, don't you think that's _highly _unlikely? The deciding factor for me, ultimately, rests in the fact that these people _were_ revered by _some_ of Kurama's superiors. At the very least, High Chamberlain Ulema supports them wholeheartedly."

Shizune's head tilted back slightly with realization. "Ah, now I see. Meaning that the Foreign Minister doesn't."

With a curt nod, Tsunade leaned back into her chair thoughtfully. "That's why I'm very cautious about this mission. There are a lot of volatile elements lurking out there in the shadows. Most of it is just disloyalties being finally revealed as the probability of a civil conflict strengthens, but I really don't like how they've dragged both Konoha and Suna into their mess. That's why I'm going to send in back-up for Shikamaru's team, but in secret. If they aren't going to show me all of their cards, then I'm not going to show them all of mine."

"Anyone in mind?"

"My first reaction would probably be someone on ANBU, given the mission parameters. Although I want to create a communication network between the espionage unit and the already established team, so it would be best to choose a Jonin at least somewhat familiar with the kids." Tsunade leaned back over her desk, shuffling through a stack of personal files. After a moment of somewhat frustrated rummaging, she selected her chosen document and tossed it beside the three pictures. "He'll do. He has no cell to train since two thirds of it aren't even in the country anymore and Sakura-chan is now my pupil. And from what I understand he's had at least some contact with the Suna-nins, even if on a transient level. As soon as he returns from his current mission I want him to speak to me immediately regarding this."

"Yes, Tsunade-sama," Shizune assured, bowing in respect. She gathered up her own documents, sliding the disheveled papers back into proper order before bowing once again, and walking quietly to the door. As she stepped out into the hallway the room brightened slightly from the lanterns flowing an enveloped saffron across the wooden walls; rainclouds finally eclipsing sunlight and pouring shadows over the day. The door closed. Gold and black intermingled.

In the silence, rain began to fall in a submissive contact against the window. Tsunade sat alone, lost in thought.


	2. Gallery of Drifting Solitude

**Of Remnants  
—two—  
'Gallery of Drifting Solitude' **

Hinata liked the rain.

Kiba had once joked that it seemed fitting for her, given her suppressed and sometimes gloomy personality. Kurenai-sensei had told him that it was a fairly thoughtless thing to say and he begrudgingly apologized, even if Hinata wasn't particularly offended. It _did_ accentuate her personality. When the element of wind was removed, rain was something dreamy and surreal; an unmistakable smell, a watery clarity that made a soft noise that muted the entire world. When Hinata was little and alone when it was raining, she liked to stand at the edge of the house, holding her hand out, allowing the water to fall upon her open palm. She never concluded why she did that.

Rain made things quiet. The remainder of the world dimmed, lost focus, faded into a shadowy liquid embrace. There wasn't any particular logic behind her affection, which made it seem bizarre and strange to other people. But almost everything about Hinata was peculiar and abnormal to most people, so this idiosyncrasy wasn't an anomalous facet of her personality.

Her glassy-white eyes peered up into the ashen sky as rain began to fall.

She sat alone at the edge of the wooden walkway alongside the main Hyuuga house, a solitary location perpendicular to an immaculate and well-manicured garden lined with cherry-blossom trees. Her hands rested flat against the cool wood, fingers spread along the sand-gold lines, her head tilted back—her precisely cultured vision following the silhouettes of rainwater as it fell in a translucent tracery to the ground below. Invisible-while-monochrome stars, fading into a gunmetal sea.

Twenty feet from where she sat her Father and Neji sparred. She had no obligation to watch them, and she knew she would not be invited to join them, but she was worried for Neji's sake. He was still recovering from the brutal and nearly mortal wounds he had received only a few weeks prior, and even if her objections to him thrusting himself back into melee would go unheeded or even be frowned upon, she still _objected_, even if not aloud. So she decided to stay nearby in the event one of his wounds re-opened to make sure care would not be long in coming.

Hiashi and Neji's sparring was fairly tame and lenient. It clearly lacked the full-throttle ferocity of an actual battle—or, perhaps, a 'friendly' spar with Rock Lee—and was mostly carried out in the interest of discerning Neji's immediate capabilities to observe his convalescent process. After watching the slow and almost casual routine for a short little while, Hinata's mind began to wander. And, as her thoughts are tend to do, she ruminated on one specific subject.

Naruto.

Hinata withdrew her dangling legs from the side of the walkway, crossing them. Thunder billowed across a moving soundscape, painting noise-colors through the sky. She took a short breath, her hands resting in her lap. She felt bad for Naruto. Sasuke was Naruto's best friend and Hinata was having a difficult time comprehending how he must have felt when Sasuke left Konoha. A lot of times she would just think about the chase. What must have been going through Naruto's mind as he ran after Sasuke to bring him back. As he sped through trees, over stones, across the grass, along the wind; what mercurial thoughts must have swarmed his mind as he lingered after the moving shape of Sasuke's back.

Hinata would think about how Naruto must have felt to finally catch up to him. To overtake him, to halt his progress, to bring with him the memory of the sounds and feelings they had endured _together_. To then be told that, Naruto, you are my best friend, and in spite of that—or perhaps even because of that—I have to kill you. She couldn't even imagine how that must have hurt. How he could possibly comes to terms with that. But he was Naruto, and somehow he managed to keep going. Continue to move his life forward, a perpetual cyclone of perseverance. Hinata thought about that a lot.

But now he was gone, and beyond her reach. She sighed, a small and feminine sound—listening as the rain's erratic drop became a steady drizzle. She held her hand out, staring at her palm as droplets collected across its pale surface. She felt alone.

_Be safe, Naruto-kun_.

Years of strict martial training had elevated Hinata's sensory nerves, so even miniature changes to her immediate environment could be perceived with little attention. So as Neji and Hiashi broke away from their fluid grapple, her eyes progressed to where they parted. She knew it wasn't because of the rain. Given that actual combat disallowed such luxuries as calling off a battle due to weather conditions, training was cultivated to reflect that. Hinata worried for a brief moment that Neji might have aggravated one of his many wounds. But that concern was mollified when they bowed to each other before turning to address another member of the Hyuuga family standing underneath an old-fashioned umbrella, escorting a guest.

Cold rainwater ran the grooves of the floor as her hand returned to her side. Hinata sat up, unable to see the guest as her Father was obstructing her view.

Neji nodded to the taller Hyuuga. "Kenji-san," he greeted politely. Hinata saw a faint smile cross Neji's face. "Shikamaru-san. Hello."

Hinata blinked. _Shikamaru-kun? What is he doing here? _

Sure enough, as Hinata tilted her head, she made out the toughened fabric of his Chuunin vest and his characteristically aloof features splashed across his face.

"Yo, Neji," he returned.

Hiashi Hyuuga's hands found the warmth of his kimono sleeves. "Welcome to our home."

Shikamaru didn't bow, but he did lower his head slightly. "Thank you for your hospitality, sir."

"I assume you've come with business of a sort?" Hiashi asked. Though his voice was even, he generally didn't approve of uninvited guests at his household. Regardless he maintained the stature of social courtesy one of his station was expected to. "We may discuss this inside if you'd prefer. I'm certain that we can get you something to drink if you wish."

"I'm fine thanks," Shikamaru answered, placing his hands in his pockets. "And yeah, I've come regarding a mission."

Neji nodded, glancing briefly at his bandaged hands. "Although I'm still recuperating, I would be happy to be of whatever service I may."

"Good to know," Shikamaru returned. He smirked, his face conjuring a faint irony. "But you're still a bit shaky after I put you through the ringer last time."

"Nonsense, don't blame yourself. I was happy to be of use before as I am now."

Hinata's breath hissed sharply as she drew in. She didn't doubt Shikamaru was a talented leader, but the last venture he had taken Neji on crushed him to less than an inch of his life. Such were the dangers of a shinobi she knew, but she was also fully aware that if called upon, Neji would act. Even were his entire body livid with atrophy and disease, he would cast off clinical sheets and curative medication and plunge into the clouded, obsidian waters of violence and death that strode alongside every dangerous mission.

A strange thought intercepted her worried considerations as she realized she would do the same if necessary. She opened her small hands, staring down at the smooth chalky skin; flesh contoured in soft crescents underneath her thumbs, fingers perfectly straight, crowned by fingertips marred with tiny calluses from hundreds of hours of training. Her left hand, glistening wet with fallen rain, appearing to her to be so fragile in that moment as if porcelain instead of flesh; glass instead of bone.

She wondered how old she was when death stopped being a statistic. When its eventuality crashed into her life because someone told her _this person died on a mission_, and the concept was now a reality because she actually had known who it was. She couldn't remember. Maybe it had always been this way.

Across the garden in the rain, Shikamaru then said, "Actually, I'm here to see Hinata. Is she here?"

Hinata's eyes widened, her ruminations crumbling. _Me. . .? _

Hiashi seemed to pause in momentary surprise. "Yes, Hinata is just behind us over there if you need to speak to her." He stepped to the side, gesturing with his hand towards Hinata as she sat alone behind them. His features were narrowed with an emotion Hinata could not discern. "Hopefully she will be of use to you and your mission."

Shikamaru met her eyes with a slight smile. "I don't doubt she will. Thank you." He turned, facing the battered Genin, raising his hand slightly. "Take care, Neji."

Neji nodded. "You too."

Hinata was struck with the realization that in spite of growing up alongside Shikamaru for the majority of her childhood, she had only spoken to him directly a handful of times. Her occupancy among others was generally a hazardous affair as her self-doubt enslaved her thought process—she considered herself unremarkable given her failings as a Hyuuga and with someone who appeared to be as perpetually irritated as Shikamaru, she always assumed he'd simply be burdened by her presence. Whether or not that was true, she never made an attempt to discover.

In spite of that, she tried to smile as he walked over to her, soaking wet. "Hello, Shikamaru-kun. Um. . . you came to see me?"

His sandals met with the cobbled stones with a wet scrape. "That'd be the case," he said. With a sigh he hopped onto the walkway next to her, underneath the overhanging roof. Water dripped from his hair and vest like a shattered crystal: without pattern, flickering in the fading sunlight as aqueous jewelry. He looked down at her. "Do you have a minute?"

"Y-Yes," she replied, his looming presence making her somewhat uncomfortable. "Would you like me to get you some tea?"

"No, I'm fine," he stated, sitting down next to her. He crossed his legs, leaning back against a thick wooden post. His head tilted back, tapping the surface with a low thud. "Whew. I hate getting all wet." He rubbed at his eyes with shining fingers. "Hopefully this won't last too long. . . I don't want to end up trapped indoors all evening."

Hinata noticed absently that Hiashi and Neji resumed their casual sparring, drizzle-haze from the emerald greenery making them fade into an iridescent prism. The distance made them silent. Her fingers coiled together in her lap. "Are. . . Um-" she paused, looking back over at Shikamaru as he sat indifferently across from her, "are you here to see me about a mission? Kiba-kun and Shino-kun have been gone for a few days on a mission to Grass country with Kurenai-sensei. . . I don't. . . think they're back yet."

Shikamaru, who had been detachedly watching Neji and Hiashi, peered at her from the corner of his eyes. "Why would I care about them if I was here to see you?"

"I-I just assumed you wanted to gather our team. . ."

After a moment passed, he sighed; a familiar sight that she knew of in spite never having been close to him. Everyone knew of his short patience with pretty much everything. He shrugged. "If I _had_ the luxury, I'd just pick my team up and use them. Unfortunately I've been saddled with a pretty troublesome mission and my first few choices wouldn't really work out. So I have to improvise and come up with an alternative plan."

She nodded. ". . . I see."

"Hey, Hinata."

"Um, yes?"

He turned to face her completely. "What kind of missions have you done before?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You know," he said, as if it explained everything. After another moment of silence when he discovered that it didn't, he forced himself to elaborate. "Like, what _kind_ of missions. Not what ranking, but what was the content of the mission. Escorting, for example. Or infiltration. That kind of thing."

"Oh." A temporary silence revived as she opened the labyrinth of her mind, reaching gently into its cavernous depths. Hinata had in fact been on a lot of missions, even if most were quite safe and adrenaline-free. A kaleidoscopic radiance of memories burst forth as she began to recall the myriad of experiences. She was somewhat disheartened as the psychological rummaging had revealed a decided lack of diversity. "Well, um. . . both escorting and infiltration. Though not very much infiltrating," she admitted. Her voice was quiet as if she were ashamed of her accomplishments, or lack thereof. She generally saw her failings before her successes. "A lot of D-Rank missions. And. . . That is- well, a lot of escorting. . . now that I think about it."

If her lack of diversity was an issue with him, he did not show it. Instead, the corner of his mouth curled up in thought. "Hmm. . ." He looked at her blandly. "How much combat experience have you racked-up in the last two years since we graduated?"

"N-Not very much. I've fought very little. . . most of it was at the Chuunin exam."

"I see."

He was surprisingly difficult to analyze. Hinata was usually fairly adept at recognizing people's emotional states: her infatuation with Naruto had initially begun because she was capable of perceiving all of the anguish he internalized underneath his jubilant and extroverted personality. But here Shikamaru seemed disconnected, inserted into an alternate frequency of reality with his body simply a wraith of flesh and movement. He was deep in thought, but he did not appear annoyed as she suspected he would be. If anything, he seemed rather conflicted.

Hinata looked away, speaking quietly. "Am I no good?"

He was pulled from his thoughts by her voice. "What?"

"Am I- um, for the mission. . ." She knew that he wasn't here to collect her for Hokage-sama, because he would have already told her so. If he was here for a mission it would be for the sake of recruiting her via his own choice. That baffled her. She was hardly the most skilled ninja in the village. In fact, most of the areas where she did have some degree of prowess such as stealth and perception, there were still others that outclassed her. "Do you think you should get someone more experienced?"

He shrugged. "Experience would be great, but what I really need is someone dependable. So I don't know. Are you good? Can I depend on you?"

"I. . . I will do my best. But—"

"But?"

". . . Why, um. . . me?"

"A few reasons," he said. His voice was calm and lacked the irritation she was used to hearing from him. Perhaps he had other things on his mind. "I picked you Hinata because a Hyuuga would be extremely useful for the current configuration I have. Byakugan is going to be a tremendous asset to this mission. And with Neji still not in top shape, you are the only other Hyuuga I know personally, and I'd prefer to work this mission with people I'm familiar with. And, as you said, Kiba and Shino aren't in town."

"Oh."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'd probably still take you along even if they were."

She looked at him in open confusion.

He yawned, stretching his arms and locking his fingers together. "You're nice. You aren't loud and obnoxious. Given who else is going to be on the team, I want someone who'll make the group run. . . smoothly. Bringing Kiba along would just make people end up butting heads, and bringing Shino would- well. . . would open old wounds. Since he _did_ beat that guy last time. . ."

Hinata was losing her mental footing as his speech seemed to pivot more towards himself, her left to fend for herself in his vague sentences. She swallowed. "Who else is coming?"

"From Leaf? We're it."

Other countries involved? That was very unusual. "That's all? Who else is involved, then?"

An odd smirk crossed his face. "Remember those Sand-nins from the Chuunin exam? Gaara, Temari and Kankuro? Yeah. Them."

Dark shades dangled a particularly wretched memory across Hinata's glassy, fragile thoughts. Her breath shortened as her fingers tightened in her lap. "I-I see. Is. . . is that okay?" Vividly the memory returned to her: concealed in the bushes with Shino and Kiba, listening as the threats were made, then the smell—the horrible _smell_—of putrid decay and melted copper and _blood_, sand filaments writhing along the grass, Gaara standing with his arms crossed, eyes cold like doors opened to a glacial universe, watching and holding the man in his fist of sand, the virulent stench melting over everything and _everywhere_ before he raised his hand and

Hinata caught herself. She knew things were different now. But still. She had looked upon Gaara and felt pure, absolute terror. The rising serpentine majesty of a spectral cobra, fanning its scales out to eclipse all the good things in her imagination. There, in those bushes, she had known death; an intimate embrace that violated her dreams months after the encounter.

Her eyes met Shikamaru's. She hoped she wasn't trembling. She was. "Is that a good idea? They're. . . very dangerous."

He nodded. "True, but they were kind of being forced into attacking us the first time we met them. And Gaara isn't quite as unstable as he once was."

"But. . ."

"Look at it this way," he said, sympathy evident in his voice. He had stared down the abyss of Gaara's gaze before, so he too knew its ghastly depths. "If it weren't for those three, Kiba, Lee and myself would be _very_ dead and we wouldn't even be having this discussion." The look he gave her concealed nothing, and she knew that he really would have been. "They came to our aid when we needed them, so I trust them. And he's different now. . . you can tell just by being near him. I stood near him just a short little while ago, and. . . I wasn't afraid." He paused, suddenly reminiscing over his darker moments with Gaara in the past. "Maybe for a moment or two, but. . . I know he's different now." He sighed. "I'd still much rather group with others from Leaf, but since I don't have a choice in this case, I have to make due with what I've got. And when all's said and done, I could have wound up with a lot worse. Having him on _our_ side is invaluable."

Large pearly irises examined his face, analytical like a microscope of ice. She found only honesty, and accepted his words, though she would be very careful around Gaara when she met him. She took a breath. "I see. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, shaking his head. "I know how you feel. Believe me."

That only left one question. "So. . . what is this mission?"

He appeared pensive. He took a long, somewhat unsteady breath, turning his head to watch Neji and Hiashi. The rain had intensified, blurring them further, seeming to entrap both Hinata and Shikamaru on an island separate from the world. "This is the tricky part," he admitted. He was frowning, a thoughtful expression cloaking his skin. "I haven't officially _asked_ you if you want to come on this mission yet because there are a few details I want you to know before you say 'yes'." He sighed, turning to face her again. "The first thing to know is that it's going to be a kind of lengthy mission."

Hinata was fine with that. She nodded. "How long?"

"At the very least? Three weeks. And that's if we do everything we have to in _amazing_ time. I really doubt that'll happen." He paused, re-engaging his meticulous mental instruments of surgery on the information he possessed. "You know, I think it'll probably be at least a month or more before we're done. There's a lot we have to accomplish."

"A month?"

"Or more. Maybe even several months." He looked at her straight in the eyes. "Are you okay with that?"

_Why wouldn't I?_ she thought. _I have nothing to miss. . ._

". . . It's not as. . . as if I have anyone to return to right now, anyways."

Shikamaru took a long moment to observe her carefully. There was a deliberate and unmistakable sadness in her soft voice, and she worried that he might think less of her if he knew how lonely she really felt. Or at how selfish she thought she was to feel such a thing. He continued after a moment. "There's a lot we're going to have to investigate, but the main thrust of the mission is. . ." he trailed off. He was clearly having a difficult time discussing the specifics of the mission. "It's kind of. . . hard to ask you to do this, since I know you've never had this kind of mission before."

Hinata really didn't want to be a disappointment for him, since he had chosen her in hopes of her being the opposite. She swallowed. "Wh-Whatever it is, I promise to do my best."

His face was empty. "I'm not going to lie to you, Hinata. You might not be ready for this. So it's alright if you say 'no'. I won't hold it against you or anything."

Ice blasted through her ribs, swarming her lungs with an arctic vengeance. Realization was beginning to spark, casting frosty shadows through her body. It was an ultimate eventuality that came with being a ninja; one she feared would come before she was ready. She had been given skills to do terrible things. To transform into an instrument, an autonomic machine, to do what weaker people could not. But he had faith in her, had come to her specifically, and she would stand up to that fear and embrace the eternal silence that she was meant to hear.

"I. . . will do what I have been trained to do." She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering strength. She opened them, a warm emptiness enveloping her brittle gaze. "What is our mission. . .?"

He said nothing. Then he confirmed the whispers of the winter-dragons inside her chest.

"An assassination."

x x x x x 

Sakura fell back onto her bed with a strained _oomph_. She was content to lay on its cushioned surface, staring blankly at her unadorned ceiling through tired eyes. Her breathing fell into a quiet rhythm as she listened to rain patter against her window: watery instruments orchestrating a soothing interlude, liquid fingers tapping glass. After another complete day of medical training she was utterly spent. It was still early in the evening but Sakura could already feel sleep reaching out with a grasping claw; not sundering, but instead softly embracing her mind. . .

She had already begun to doze off when her Mother's voice ebbed through the door. "Sakura-chan, you've got a visitor!"

Sakura blinked, then rubbed at her aching eyes. With a sigh she stood, walking back out of her room. Given her demanding training she was adept at keeping her exhaustion out of her movements, but those who knew her well would have been able to see the hesitation in every step and the slight quiver in every breath. She held the wooden side-rail as she descended down the stairs into the landing, where she met her visitor.

Her eyebrows raised. "Hinata-chan?"

Standing next to Mrs. Haruno with a now closed umbrella was the timid Hyuuga. Water dripped around her sandals from her umbrella and somewhat drenched legs, and she was blushing from her rather disheveled appearance.

Hinata smiled shyly at Sakura. "H-Hello. . ."

"Hey," Sakura greeted simply. A tired but amused look swept her pale face. "What brings you to my boring pocket of town?"

Hinata's hand tightened around the umbrella's handle. "I was wondering if. . . you could do me a favor?"

x x x x x 

"That bastard," Kankuro seethed. "Two hours my ass. We should just kick the door in."

Creeping dusk was drowned underneath a pouring deluge, rain slashing across the multi-faceted crevices of Konoha. Gaara, Temari and Kankuro stood in front of the apartment that Shikamaru had requested they meet; safe from being drenched by a canopy of sand Gaara had draped several feet above them. The walkway beneath them clanked with rainwater contact, droplets cascading down in fractal patterns to the ground below. Kankuro paced restlessly where the dry pocket allowed, while Temari simply leaned against the railing keeping to herself.

Gaara inclined against the wall with his arms crossed, his gourd pressing against the plaster gently. "I'm sure he wouldn't approve of that."

Kankuro stopped pacing to look at him. "Since when do the proud shinobi of Suna answer to tardy, sleepy and whiny _Leafies_? So he doesn't approve. What a tragedy. We've been waiting here for over twenty minutes now on _his_ schedule, and you know what?" He made grand, overstated gestures to his damp clothes. "I'm wet. I _hate_ being wet. Tch. . . they wouldn't even let me in to see Baki-sensei. What gives with that? That wasn't so much to ask, was it? I wouldn't be in such a crappy mood. If we're allies now, they sure have a weird way of going about it."

With a grunt, Kankuro gave the door to the apartment a solid kick, ignoring Gaara's previous comment. "I bet he's not even making his way here. I'll bet he's inside, where it's nice and dry, sleeping." He frowned, kicking the door once again with less force. "This whole town is backwards. So we attacked them behind their backs. So what? Who hasn't? Doesn't mean they have the right to. . . _ah_, forget it." A pause interrupted his irritated diatribe before he muttered, "I'm cold."

"Stop talking," Gaara said.

Kankuro sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Have you got any other way to pass the time? The least he could have done was told us that he might be late so we could go and get something to eat. Then we wouldn't be left starving, cold and wet on his porch while he. . . does whatever it is that he does. I say we just ditch him. He's probably playing some power game by making us wait outside in the rain. Proving to us that we're his. . . his lackies, or underlings, or _whatever_." Kankuro paused, somewhat embarrassed, as his stomach growled audibly. Neither of his siblings said anything. Eventually he continued, this time with less intensity; his protests were merely the death-throes of agitation at being unable to see his Sensei. Pessimism smoked out of hibernation through routine rather than honesty. "I say screw him. I'm not giving him the satisfaction. I say we walk. Drop everything and just walk. See how he likes it."

Kankuro turned to look at Temari, who until then had been silent. "What do you think? Should we bail?"

Temari's attention was elsewhere. Her forearms propped atop the metal railing, she had been content to watch sunlight perforate the cloud-line at the very apex of the horizon. Misshapen orange-magenta helixes running a tattered sunset across the streaming black: a colorful and glinting sequence, vanishing between the rain and the distance. She turned to face Kankuro with a sleepy expression. "Hmm? I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Silenced briefly at her response, Kankuro eventually muttered, ". . . I hate you. I hate you right in your stupid face."

The muted sound of shuffling feet and crinkled plastic warped around the corner, a nearly undetectable movement of noise. Their attention was diverted from Kankuro's irritation, redirected towards a person cresting the stairs, striking a gloomy contrast against the darkened rain. Hinata stood there alone at the edge of the walkway, looking back at them with a pallid, anxious gaze; umbrella held above her in a shaking hand. A white grocery bag hung at her side, her movement frozen into a portrait of sunlight and despair: a porcelain figurine given animate shape. A strength in weakness.

Hinata took a quivering breath. "Uh. . . hello. . ."

Kankuro, still mostly involved with his fluctuating dissonance, gave a surly nod. "Yeah. Hey."

Temari turned from the railing, facing Hinata with a solid, confident look. "Hey, does some punk kid named Shikamaru live here? We've been waiting for him for a bit."

Hinata took a few cautious steps towards the trio. Her voice was smothered by the rain: a timid organic white noise, like a soft murmur along the edges of a waking dream. "Um, not technically. But you're in the right area. . . Shikamaru-kun was going to have us meet at this apartment."

Temari crunched the numbers immediately, nodding. "Ah, so that means you're the fifth team member. Welcome aboard, then. I'm sure we've met before, but just in case we haven't, I'm Temari." She chucked a thumb at her companions. "These are my brothers. The quiet one is Gaara, and the oaf is Kankuro."

"P-Pleasure to meet you. . ." Hinata's articulacy stumbled in the entrapment of darkness: her eyes drawn inevitably to Gaara's shadowy form, his very presence surging anxiety through her body. She stopped just short of the sand-canopy, her hands tightening around their respective objects. Her eyes fell beneath their faces, her skin aflame in a blush forged of both spectral-terror and genuine respect. ". . . My name is Hyuuga Hinata. I hope. . . we do well together."

Temari found herself smiling at the quiet, internal girl. A peculiar fondness bloomed. "I'm sure we'll do just fine."

Kankuro scratched his elbow, looking down at Hinata. "So where is this guy, anyways? We're getting tired of waiting."

From behind them, Gaara said, "You're getting tired of waiting."

Kankuro's head turned. "Oh, and you're not?"

"Not everyone is as impatient as you."

"Tch," Kankuro snorted, rolling his eyes. "Keep talking. I know it's getting to you, too."

Hinata's feet shuffled. Her eyes darted back and forth between the glistening steel underneath them and the blackened sand shifting above them. The bloody smell was unmistakable, particles merging in a slither reminiscent of murky lake-water churning a throbbing undertow. A spectral phantasm draped like a sodden cloak, waiting to descend and unravel in the soaring forms of ruin and chaos. Hinata swallowed. "Um, Shikamaru-kun told me that he was going to be a little bit late. . . so I went and borrowed the key to the apartment so we can wait for him inside."

Temari grinned. "Good job, Hinata-chan! Then we can snoop around and see what kind of guy he really is while he's not around to stop us."

Gaara pushed himself away from the wall, crossing his arms. "This is not his apartment."

Temari blinked. She turned to face him. "It's not?" She frowned. "How do you know that?"

A reply was not in coming. Gaara's blank stare simply met his sister's eyes, leaving it up to her to fill in the blanks. Temari sometimes despised Gaara's sense of seclusion and personal secrecy, but she knew nothing would come of pressing him. She was fairly confident he wouldn't take her life on a trivial whim simply for questioning him as he might have once, but she was also completely certain that he wouldn't divulge any information he didn't want to regardless of earnest curiosity. Forefinger scratching her cheek, she simply sighed.

"G-Gaara-san is right," Hinata said. She bit her lip, recoiling internally for a slight moment as the attention of all three of them was foisted back upon her. "Shikamaru-kun lives with his parents on the other side of the village. . . this apartment is Naruto-kun's."

Kankuro snapped his fingers with recollection. "Oh yeah, that guy. Hey, what's he been up to lately? Haven't heard much about him since that time we saved your guys' ass and all."

Temari punched him in the shoulder. "I thought you wanted to go inside?"

A growl scraped against the back of Kankuro's throat. "Shut up. . ."

Hinata hesitated for a slight moment before stepping forward. She pulled the umbrella down, forcing the spokes to flatten against the plastic pole as not to jab the points into her new 'companions' as she walked between them. A faint ghost swept across her face as she stepped underneath the yawning cover of sand; standing now only a few feet away from the three most terrifying people she had ever met in person. Forcing herself to look away from Gaara, she placed the now folded umbrella under her arm, using her then free hand to fish the spare key to Naruto's apartment Sakura had lent her out of her pocket.

She licked her lips, her entire mouth starved for moisture. "I. . . went out and bought some instant ramen in case you haven't had supper yet," she told them quietly as she began to insert the metal key into the lock. Her back was to them and they were very aware of how acutely inflamed her senses were at that moment. Body poised for immediate and momentary change, reactionary force preprogrammed into nerves and tendons. Her body fibers hummed with paranoia energy. She continued speaking as the key twisted. "I didn't. . . know what kind of kitchen facilities Naruto-kun would have, so. . . I'm sorry it's such low quality food."

"Nope, sounds great," Temari answered, smile gone. Hinata's obvious intensity extinguished her previous cheer, so Temari had adapted a neutral tone as her instincts drew her back into a preemptive defense. Suna and Konoha weren't _that_ close of allies yet. "We're very hungry. We appreciate it."

The door opened with a metal crack as hinges rolled back, swinging the wood inwards. A cold darkness beckoned in the dry cavern within. An abandoned world estranged from the inundated forest of movement outside its walls, a lifetime of memories none of them could perceive haunting its empty grounds. Hinata paused before entering as the _smell_ of Naruto himself struck her with a ferocious intensity: he had lived in these rooms for years, pieces of his existence still lingering in his absence. With tangible contact of him, he infiltrated her psychology with a sad, flickering surge—a film-projection concluded, left to spin on its wheel, running a blank frame through the lens over and over and over.

Hinata stepped inside, the three of them following shortly thereafter. Her hand found the light-switch next to the door, flicking the diode and allowing meager illumination to filter into the living room. She quickly slipped her sandals off and stepped into the room proper, turning sideways to keep the other three in view. A frustrated despair shot through her as she felt her elbows slightly _spasm_ as Gaara entered: sand whispering down from the canopy outside into his awaiting gourd with a scratchy noise similar to a needle touching softly upon the surface of a record, amplified several-fold. Temari closed the door behind them and then they were all inside.

"_Finally_," Kankuro said, breaking the silence.

Without preamble the three siblings removed their sandals. The room itself was a small, cozy if not sparse domicile equipped with the most basic acquiescence to both comfort and necessity. Simple unadorned walls enclosed the room, cube-perfection marred by entrances to the kitchen and bedroom/bathroom respectively. Several chairs sat around an oaken table blanketed with a thin skin of dust. Several feet away, against the wall, was a blue couch that didn't look particularly comfortable. Several holes punctured the rough-looking fabric.

Across the room, on a poorly fashioned and tilted ledge, was a picture.

After a moment of running his eyes through the room, Gaara spoke. ". . . Just like him."

Kankuro eyed Gaara briefly. "So. . . yeah." He looked around awkwardly, watching as Hinata began to make her way into the unlit kitchen. He took a breath. "Kind of barren in here. . ." Spotting an empty corner perpendicular to the door, he shrugged and walked over to it. As he did he slung the bandaged Karasu from around his back, resting the sealed doll against the wall since he assumed he wouldn't be needing it for the time being. "Hey—Hinata, was it? What's the deal with meeting at this apartment? Why not a restaurant or his own place or whatever? Or did he say?"

Her voice came from the kitchen, sounding muffled through the wall. "Yes. He told me that Naruto-kun's place was practical since it's vacant for the time being. He said that he wanted to meet in a private place where most people wouldn't suspect us to be."

Kankuro stood aside as Temari and Gaara both followed his example, placing their respective burdens next to his in the corner. In enclosed spaces such as the apartment those weapons would prove to be more cumbersome than useful given their reliance on wide-open spaces. Should the possibility of violence arise, they were all perfectly capable of defending themselves in the time required to retrieve them, at any rate. Kankuro scratched his chin in thought, speaking aloud to himself. ". . . The way he looked at that Mountain Secretary guy. . . guess he's not very trusting. Still. Kind of defeats the purpose if he's going to leave us outside for twenty minutes and give away the secret."

After placing her battle-fan against the wall, Temari yawned with a slight stretch. "I'm sure he was planning on being here on time." She blinked sleepily, turning a sardonic look on Kankuro. "And even if he didn't, I'm pretty sure he was planning on the people who waited for him would be _quiet_."

Kankuro shrugged. "Hey. . . extenuating circumstances. Out of my hands now."

Hinata spoke again from the kitchen. "I'm going to start boiling the water. The store only had beef and chicken ramen since they were closing up when I got there. . . is that okay?"

"Fine, Hinata-chan," Temari called back. She stood there for a moment, lost in thought. Her lower lip bent inwards, disappearing into her mouth as her eyes peered with a guarded analysis at the kitchen. Eventually, she began to follow Hinata's example and made her way out of the living room. "Hey, I'll help. I'm not exactly a kitchen wizard or anything, but I don't think that boiling water will be too much of an arm wrestle."

Energy dimmed even further as both girls left the room, giving the desolate zone the guise of an entombed cell that had slept for eons in the bowels of a buried civilization. All the tiny influences on the room—the couch, the table, the ledge, the picture—then resonated in the dark wasteland as if they each held multitudinous secrets, stories that dated back to a life beyond time and space. The very room itself felt _off_, as if the brothers weren't visitors but intruders; plunged into a dead universe never meant to touch their lives. It was an odd feeling.

Kankuro let out a breath, finding the apartment very cold. He dropped himself onto the tattered couch without ceremony, sighing with a degree of relief to finally sit down after traveling for several consecutive days. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself in a place more familiar and welcoming, making an effort to soothe his raw and stripped nerves. He could feel Gaara moving about the room quietly through the shifts in the air.

Without opening his eyes, Kankuro spoke. "So. What's your assessment?"

Gaara's answer came from the other side of the room, near the picture. "I think you would do well to trust his instincts."

Kankuro's right eye cracked open. "Why?"

Lacking the gourd that seldom left his back, Gaara's visage in the gloom was almost wraithlike. Arms folded in front of a thin body, concealed by a deep burgundy ninjutsu garb; sharp features lining his face drowned in the ghost-light. His expression was inanimate. ". . . Konoha must hold his abilities in high esteem to give him command over a unified mission. Also, Temari seems to trust him."

"Maybe," Kankuro conceded. He shrugged. "But. . . I don't know. There's just something about him that seems. . . seems _brittle_. He acts tough, but I don't think he really is. I don't like someone with that kind of fake attitude put in charge. He could get everyone killed."

"Mm," Gaara replied neutrally.

Kankuro was silent for another moment, both eyes opened and staring at the ceiling. "They. . . tore away his memories."

Gaara's head turned, looking across the room at him.

Kankuro didn't return his gaze. "Baki-sensei. I asked. They wouldn't let me in, but. . ." Kankuro made an odd noise at the back of his throat—not quite irritated, but too alien to his personality to be anything else. His teeth sank gently into his lower lip for a moment. "It's stupid. They can't even judge how deep it is. Someone really. . . someone wasted his mind. They said they don't even know if he understands who he is anymore. It might just be a temporary thing, but it could be permanent. They won't know, until. . . They might never find out. Who the—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Who the hell could've done something like that? That's not ninja-for-hire work. That's insane genjutsu. Just _insane_."

"I won't pretend to know."

Kankuro gave a half shrug. "I didn't ask you to. It's just so. . . pathetic. What a stupid-ass way to be brought down."

The chronic ticking of a wall-clock from the bedroom pulsed into the silence.

Kankuro swallowed. "Ah. . . Dammit."

x x x x x 

Hinata's soft breath peeled a craggy layer of charcoaled flakes from the top of an over burner. Miniature shards twisted up and halted in a momentary float before dangling back down and stockpiling at the rear of the oven, drawing a scattered line of black speckles across the dusty white. Hinata's fingers then brushed across the burner with a slight push, collecting the burnt remnants of a pot that hadn't been adequately prepared for extreme temperatures. She sighed to herself at the disarray the kitchen externalized, noting with a detached fondness that it made _sense_ Naruto's kitchen would be mess, before placing a pot full of tap water onto the stove.

Her hands reached over the pot then to twist the temperature knobs. "I hope Naruto-kun has been keeping his appliances at least somewhat clean. I'd feel awful if we started a fire by accident."

Behind her, Temari could only nod. The process to cultivate instant ramen wasn't a spectacularly complicated one, and while no means a culinary artist Temari was very aware of how it was done. Her presence was only for informative purposes: she knew nothing about Hinata, and though she seemed like the kind of girl that Temari could see being friends with, her recoiled and hyper-alert senses were painfully obvious. And Temari's doubt was an intrinsic facet of her personality—the result of being raised around frauds and a homicidal brother, she suspected.

Temari looked around the kitchen with a bland expression. "Kinda dark in this dive." She noticed a single, mostly used candle sitting atop a small table. Its lavender wax had pooled around the base in a clump of solidified tears, capped by a crescent-shaped wick. Temari placed her thumb and forefinger over the singed rope, running a sudden flare of chakra through her digits. The chakra sparked with a conscious push, igniting the candle. A soft flame replaced her fingers as she drew her hand away. The small kitchen was aglow with a curving and elastic orange. "There we go. Better?"

"Yes." Hinata had stepped back to watch the water simmer. "Thank you."

Eyeing Hinata carefully, Temari stepped beside the smaller girl to the counter. "This the stuff here?" She gestured at the loaded grocery bag bulging with ramen cups and what looked to be like bottled water. Temari blinked. It was a rather thoughtful gesture, one that hadn't escaped her. Perhaps she really _did_ mean well.

Hinata nodded. "Yes."

Temari untied the plastic knot Hinata had fashioned around the top of the bag, thin crumples drowning the sound of the burner as it began to vibrate with increased heat. After giving a quick glimpse, Temari deduced there was no henge placed to disguise any of the items in the bag as something sinister and then began to empty its contents on the counter beside them. In a peculiar sensation, Temari wanted to give Hinata the benefit of the doubt and allow for her on-edge demeanor. It made sense. They had attacked their village less than a year ago, so Hinata probably had every right to be less than fond of them.

With a shake of her head, Temari suppressed a yawn. She decided the only way to find anything out about Hinata was to get her talking, so Temari spoke first to encourage banter. "Back at home the boys never made me cook. Kankuro used to until he finally realized I just totally suck at it. Survival mechanism. Weird how that is. . . Mom was supposed to be a great cook. Same with Grandma." She paused as she placed a few more bottles of water on the counter, chuckling at that memory. The look on Kankuro's face had been forever immortalized in her thoughts. "But me? I'm all thumbs. Now Kankuro won't let me near any kind of stove or microwave or wood and box of matches unless he makes it perfectly clear that he doesn't have to try anything I make. I always told myself I had better things to do with my time than learn something frivolous."

Hinata's eyes darted from the water-filled pot to Temari, pale white tracing the outskirts of her peripheral. "At home. . . I hav—had a lot of spare time, so I guess I just don't really. . . I don't mind doing it. Nobody really asks me to, but I like doing it. Even if it's just for myself."

"Lucky you," Temari observed. "Free of hounding _and_ talent obstruction. I'm jealous."

"It's nothing special. . ."

As Temari emptied the last of the ramen cups onto the counter, her eyes fell onto Hinata's hands. They were held to her chest, fingers locked together as if shielding something precious within their grasp. Their pallid surfaces glistened slightly from the rain; black smudged along the fingertips from when she had brushed the oven burner. She seemed fragile, as if a strong wind would crash through her, storming through her veins and cracking her into pieces. There was a distinct trembling in her joints, and Temari felt her previous distrust transform from distance into pity. Hinata wasn't tense or alert or prepared for attack. She was afraid.

Temari spoke carefully. "Hinata-chan?"

Hinata blinked, looking up at the older girl. "Y-Yes?"

". . . You're shaking."

"Oh," Hinata responded, jumping slightly as her obvious condition was revealed. She blushed, eyes falling away, knuckles whitening as her grip tightened. "It's just. . . I'm sorry. I get cold very easily when it rains. Perhaps I should have brought a towel with me. That was silly of me to forget. . ."

And then Temari understood. Understood so perfectly she was temporarily upset with herself for not having realized it earlier. Simply because her own life had been aligned so totally with _his_ didn't mean that anyone else's had. The majority of Konoha's Genin were still living with the reality that they had witnessed at the Chuunin exam and the ensuing assault, so they hadn't experienced the contradictory transfigurations he had experienced thereafter. And it wasn't going to be so straightforward as to simply telling Hinata that things were different now and that Gaara had changed. She was going to have to see it for herself.

"You're scared," Temari eventually said. "Of him."

Hinata didn't respond, indicating the statement was true.

Temari crumpled the now empty bag up, tossing it to the other side of the counter. "If it counts for anything, _I_ won't hurt you. Okay? We might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but that was simply. . . it was a silly thing. It was a bad situation and we'd apologize to your country formally if diplomats weren't so arrogant. So let me do it for them. We're sorry, Hinata-chan."

A moment passed, Hinata shaking her head. "It's. . . it's not that. It's not your fault. I'm sorry."

Temari rested her hand gently on Hinata's shoulder, lips bending in a little smile. "It's really okay, alright? We're in this together now, right? Since we're on the same team, I promise to. . ." She trailed off, blond hair shaking as she halted herself mid-sentence. She had just met this girl and it was far too soon to be promising her anything. Temari didn't like being bound to people, so she never made promises lightly. She redirected her point. "Hey, I saw you fight at the preliminaries, you know. You lost, yeah, but I was impressed. Really. You've got strength. Girls need to be powerful. We can't let people think they have the right to roll over us."

Once again Hinata looked away, wrenching her gaze to something inanimate and inorganic. Her voice cracked with frailty when she murmured. ". . . I saw. . . in the bushes. That day of the Chuunin exam. I saw. . . Gaara-san, and. . ."

Temari blinked, withdrawing her hand from Hinata's shoulder. "That was you hiding there?"

Hinata said nothing. Then, "The water is ready now."

Frothing bubbles began swirling through the super-heated water, a dull noise juxtaposing the rain pattering the window several feet away. Liquid symphonies streamed over the silence. Temari eyed Hinata with a variety of feelings, visceral chameleons shifting as thoughts touched on memories and the immediate moment. Without responding she allowed Hinata to change the subject, deciding that she'd rather not injure Hinata's pride further by forcing her to elaborate on the subject. Her hands fell to her hips as Hinata snapped the heat off the burner.

". . . Alright," Temari finally responded. She forced a friendly smile. "I'll let you handle it, okay? I'll supervise. I'm kind of pathetic at this sort of thing."

Hinata returned her smile, but it faded quickly. "It. . . just takes practice."

x x x x x 

Konoha's Ambassador's Lounge was a lush and spacious room built for the purpose of serving the needs of Fire Country's special guests, visiting diplomats, and other persons of lordly caliber. It was an immaculate collision of the East and West: architecture and wall-furnishings of Eastern lineage, whereas the upright tables dressed with pristinely cleansed fabric and sturdy, padded chairs were clearly a Western influence. The marriage created a centralized fulcrum of heritages, allowing guests from all over the world feel as if they belonged there to some degree.

Kurama rubbed his eyes with his fingers, the remains of his dinner being hauled away by the kimono-adorned staff. He stifled a thick yawn before reaching over and lifting the goblet of red wine, emptying its contents down his throat in a single tilt, placing it back on the table as he stood. Kurama preferred grape-wine to rice-wine, in spite of his ancestry—all things Eastern reminded him of aspects he chose not to remember. Not that he was particularly fond of Western civilization either, but he supposed since he was a ranking official of a Western country he should at least act the part.

He began to weave his way tiredly out of the Lounge, genially returning waves and well-wishes from other ambassadors he was familiar with. More than anything, Kurama simply wanted to finally lapse into a deep sleep now that the process had some room to breathe. He still needed to monitor the various threads, but he could allow himself to slip away for one night.

As he arrived at the edge of the Lounge, he held the door open for a statesman and his wife from Grass Country, returning their gratitude with a practiced smile. Social affairs required tempered manners regardless of ones current mental state, something Kurama had learned years ago. He allowed himself to yawn quietly as he stepped into the hotel lobby, a flawless and sanguine chamber draped with lacquered wood and plush, red carpeting. He began to make his way over to the twisting stairs before the female desk clerk called out to him.

"Oh, Kurama-san!" She waved at him in a friendly manner, smiling politely. Her violet kimono seemed to both contrast and compliment her surroundings at the same time. "Have you just come from dinner?"

Kurama halted his advance, turning towards the desk. "Yes." He linked his hands together behind his back, a neurotic gesture he wasn't sure where it had begun. "If I may, please pass on my praise and gratitude to the cooking staff. The fish in particular was excellent."

"I certainly will. A notice arrived a short while ago addressed to you if you'd like to take it with you now."

The young woman began shuffling a series of letters on top of the marble counter before finding a small manila bound envelope.

Kurama nodded. "Ah. Thank you." He took the letter from her, looking down at its unmarred surface. There was no return address. "Do you know who delivered this?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. It came along with the other international packaging via postal just earlier this afternoon. It only arrived on the desk about a half hour ago."

"Ah," he replied simply with a curt nod. "Well, thank you anyways. Good evening."

"Have a good night, Kurama-san."

After a slight bow Kurama turned and began making his way up the stairs towards his room. He turned the letter over in an attempt to find any markings that might identify its point of origin, but finding it to be a naked slate devoid of any distinguishing characteristics. The Foreign Minister Himself was prone to sending such unmarked notices to Kurama, so he rather suspected he knew whom the letter was from in spite of its anonymity. As he crested the stairs the hallways darkened—free from the overhanging prism-luminance of the lobby chandelier, instead lit by small kerosene lanterns. Kurama's footfalls made muffled creaks as he walked across the thick carpet.

He stopped at the door to his room, his eyes still on the letter. With a sigh he removed the key from his breast pocket, the precisely cut and sculpted silver inserting into the shining gold of the door-handle. Thick crunches resonated through the sturdy door as the deadbolts swung aside and Kurama pushed the door open, stepping into the room within. As he did, he paused, suppressing a sudden surge of irritation. His fingers tensed on the doorknob, gripping it tightly as he stood statuesque. Then the feeling alleviated and he closed the door.

Kurama tossed the letter facedown onto the desk near the door, eyeing the far corner of the room. Without saying anything he walked over to the window, its view a smoky ocean of rain and smeared clouds. He drew the deep-green curtains across the window with obvious agitation before turning back towards the desk. He took a few breaths to steady his nerves, slowly unbuttoning his vest and then draping it across the bed before pulling a chair away from a table tucked to the side of the room and placing it in front of the desk.

He spoke as he sat down. "I'm under constant surveillance given the suspicions both Wind and Fire have of my activities, so. . ." His fingers loosened his tie, before twisting the metal knob of a small lantern, spilling fractured light into the room. "I think it's rather brazen of you to attempt meeting with me like this."

There was a soft masculine chuckle. "You fret too much, Nagare-kun. I won't make any obvious movements to endanger the secrecy of our relationship. So have a little faith in me, huh?"

Kurama took a short breath. "Fine. I'm sorry." He shook his head, annoyed with himself. He should have expected this. "I'm. . . just a little on edge ever since this second attack."

Feet connected to the ceiling, a man stood upside down from the far corner of the room. He wore a well-tailored light green business suit, tie dropping down past his face due to gravity. His arms were crossed, loose blond hair falling several inches towards the floor. A forehead protector was draped across his eyes, the Stone Country crest chiseled through with a perfect line. Given that his eyes were concealed by the protector due to his sockets being empty cavities, his expression was difficult to read. Kurama didn't bother to look at him.

"Yeah, that was just really bad timing." The man shrugged, his tie moving with a weak undulation. "Not your fault. I don't even know how those two caught wind of your idea."

Kurama turned the letter face up, smoothing it across the desk. "It was a message. Plain and simple. It was obviously his handiwork. The problem is I can't really figure out _who_ the message was intended for. Me, the Minister, his brother, or someone else entirely. . . I really wish they hadn't gotten involved."

"Hmm." The man paused, feet shifting slightly along the ceiling. "Well, on that note. . . I've taken a look into the High Chamberlain's recent expenditures and everything seems legitimate. So you were right. She's authentic. Her interest in the treaty is straight up."

A frown creased Kurama's brow. "I was hoping to hear otherwise. That makes things. . . difficult."

"Don't have second doubts now, Nagare-kun. I know how you feel, but you're just. . . stuck. Okay? You did what you had to. Just. . . you know." He paused, seeming to ponder over something, before he spoke again, the volume of his voice diminished. "Think of Hitomi."

". . . I do. Every day. That's the only reason why I haven't killed myself."

The man on the ceiling sighed. "Don't say that. Look. I'm sorry for dropping in on you like this. I thought you wanted to know right away whether or not—"

"It's fine," Kurama interceded. He reached for a letter opener, turning the brittle silver blade on the edge of the envelope. "I appreciate it. Thank you."

Thunder crashed overhead, plowing its way over sound, causing the window to vibrate erratically with a noise similar to a bee trapped in a thin glass cube. A wasteland of empty sounds actualized in the wake of the fracas. "A tool is just that," the man stated in the aftermath. "A tool. Don't mull over it too much. The moment a human realizes they're going to be killed by another person they stop existing as a human being. They just become objects of control. If you're not willing to hurt anyone, then you can't save anyone."

Kurama wasn't listening. He had unfolded the crinkled letter, reading over its terse instructions written in an elegantly free-style message. Frustration began to warp into legitimate anger as he read over the smears of black ink, unknown to Kurama until he realized his teeth were sinking painfully into his lip. He resisted the urge to shred the letter in his hands. "Damn him. . ."

"Everything alright?"

". . . Yes." Instead of sundering the letter into millions of pieces, or jamming it into the kerosene lamp to watch it exhume into smoke, Kurama folded it back into its original form and placed it back into the opened envelope. He still didn't turn to look at the man. "Thank you for the information. I think I'm going to retire for the night. Please leave quietly."

"Alright. Take care. I'll see you in three days."

Air surroundings imploded as flesh receded. And then the man was gone.

Kurama sat in the dim quiet for a long time. Eventually he lowered his head into his hands, staring at the carpeted ground between his feet.

"I'm. . . sorry I got blood on your dress."


	3. Hearts Alive

_Apologies to Mastodon (again) and Herman Melville. May they be forgiving after I'm finished defiling everything awesome they ever did. :)_

**Of Remnants  
—three—  
'Hearts Alive' **

Moonlight glimpsed through the serenity of the winter night with a celestial iris. Stars flickered in the frozen air, midnight sky-dancers blinking across a perfect black. The plunging valleys of Moradunne glittered as chrome-starlight smeared across twisted snowdrifts, a white sheared scar-pattern across the northern stretch of Snow Country. Trees reaching beyond decades clumped underneath heavy clusters of frost, overlooking a merciless drop into a crystal pathway between the shining ice cliffs. The night was still, wind and cloud absent in the glowing darkness.

A cluttered rattling echoed up the smooth stretch of rock. Horses covered by padded wool and leather pulled a carriage through the ravine, the lone sound penetrating the quiet and sliding into the sky. Wood jostled noisily over the cold ground with every bump along the beaten surface, the wheels grinding a circular litany. A sole man sat huddled at the front of the carriage, reigns in hand; dark cloak draped over his head, shoulders slumped, cigarette glowing between his teeth. Alone in the arctic silence.

The Wolves pursued from above.

Five lupine sentries clad in dark gray fur, moving with assassin's precision. Their paws fell silently along the snow, following single file as to conceal their numbers. They were summoned wolves of a higher plane; wrought unto the world through a contract of blood to assist with the summoner's whims. Both ravenous and kind when necessary, they existed with an age greater than the silent forest surrounding them. A cold, soft breeze whisked across the overhanging forest, their breath coalescing in a ghostly smoke. From their vantage point the carriage lingered slowly along hundreds of feet beneath them: a miniscule blemish across the blue-white, their footfalls tracing along its trajectory.

At the rear of the pack, a scarred female wolf slowed her movement. She blinked her wise saffron eyes once, then stopped completely. Her head twisted into the air, snout raised, peering mercilessly at the lunar eye above them. The sound of snow crunching whirled as the alpha wolf dropped back from the pursuing group, turning in such a way as to continue the mask of their paw-prints.

The Alpha spoke quietly. "Larentia?"

Larentia's tail twitched. "Hold, Bodolf. . ."

Bodolf's head tilted. "Do you smell something? Have we been followed?"

"No. It is something different." Her ears rose for a moment before falling. Breath smoked from her maw. "It is not a physical thing."

Features tightened into the hound-like equivalent of a frown. "Are you well?"

Larentia set her jaw. Her paw brushed snow off her nose, her head shaking. "I apologize. I felt something reach across the void and into my heart. My soul flickered with hers again."

Bodolf snorted. "That girl again?"

"Yes. Her terror resonated within me."

"Peculiar," Bodolf said simply, large head turned slightly to recapture the vision of the carriage and the forwarding position of the pack. His dark fur camouflaged him with the lifeless fallen trees, as his bushy tail brushed the snow beneath him, erasing the blemish of his presence. "You haven't felt such affinity with a vessel in centuries. Regardless, we don't have the luxury of allied time. Our target continues to move."

"Wait, please," she asked. A repressed snarl beset her jaw before she blinked again, the feeling passed. "I. . . No. You're right."

Bodolf chuckled softly. ". . . Your soul heaves in the white wind. I can smell your connecting spirit. I won't pretend to tell you your place, but I ask if such a time comes that you need to be by her side, please do not forsake us to do so."

"Of course not. Don't be absurd."

A silver quiet glistened as wintry breeze sighed through the trees. Snow lifted off the surrounding drifts in a shedding of ice-dust.

Bodolf began to turn. ". . . Come. Our blood contract compels us. The trail cools."

Larentia glanced back at the moon once and then followed.

x x x x x 

Kankuro shifted on the couch uncomfortably, idly wondering how anyone could stand living with such crude furniture. His fingers tapped an off-melody against his knee as his thoughts scavenged his mindscape for a calming sculpture. He purposefully sought a tranquil degree of control to force the trembling energy honed into his nerves into submission; he wasn't certain why, but he was on edge and rather nervous, bone-joints humming like a tuning fork. The cold made him aware that he was gently shaking.

"So, anyways," he finally said aloud, an attempt to remove himself from himself. "How _did_ you know that this was that Naruto guy's apartment?"

Gaara, the sole other person in Naruto's living room, didn't answer immediately. His body was like a ghost in daylight: a clouded form draped over reality in a veil of cloth and flesh, sunbeams replaced by a shadow-bath. Arms crossed and rigidly stoic, Gaara was almost as lifeless as the room itself. The illusion was eclipsed when his head turned slightly, gesturing across the room with a tilt.

"Photograph."

Kankuro looked across the room at the picture. "Yeah, nice try. Or. . . did you probe the apartment while we were just standing out there?" He blinked, just then noticing a faint trail of sand along the carpet near the doorway. He shook his head. "Jeez. And I thought I was untrusting. Hope he doesn't come home one night and find sand in his bed or something."

"I could. . . smell him," Gaara said quietly. His eyes hovered on the captured moment. "So I had to see for myself."

Kankuro frowned. "Smell. . .?" He paused, realizing what Gaara really meant. "Oh. Yeah. I guess I can understand. Have you spoken to him lately?"

"Not recently."

"What about that time a few weeks ago? You just kind of up and vanished from town." Kankuro's eyes probed the darkness. "Did you. . ."

Gaara shook his head. "That was the last time I saw him. I haven't seen him since."

Kankuro leaned forward, fingers linking between his knees. "I suppose I should be grateful and all, but. . . nothing personal against him, I guess." He shrugged, giving Gaara a restrained but quietly affectionate look. "I just never thought it'd be someone like that who'd—you know. With you."

Gaara nodded. ". . . He and I are similar."

Kankuro blinked, then frowning. "How's that? From what I remember, he was kind of a brat. He didn't act anything like you at all."

"Perhaps. Our personalities are irrelevant to our connection."

It took a few moments for that to clarify for Kankuro. When it did, understanding lessoned his own subdued anxiety in a rare sympathy. His voice was quiet, just skirting a murmur. "Oh. I see. . . I guess it makes- no, it really does make sense if that's true." He shook his head, looking away from his younger brother. "I didn't even notice."

"He was better at hiding it than I ever was," Gaara replied simply. "By placing himself in the open he was perfectly concealed."

Kankuro let out a slow, uneasy breath. "Funny how that is. People are weird."

The dull orange along the wall shifted as Temari stepped back into the room, her body refracting the meager candlelight. Her face was blank but her eyes were tired; unlived age wrinkling at their soft blue shine. Several bottles of water were nestled under her arm, trapped by her lavender garb: her hands deftly carrying three water-brimmed instant ramen cups with kunoichi skill.

She handed a cup to Gaara. "Here, courtesy of Hinata-chan," she said as Gaara took the styrofoam cup from her, hands on its polar points to keep it steady. She stepped over to Kankuro, looking at him with a weird monotonous expression as she thrust his dinner at him. "Here. Try not to spill it all over the place."

Kankuro returned her deadpan gaze, fingers curling around warmth. "I promise nothing."

Temari sighed in a forced gesture to hide her smile. She tossed a bottle of water at him, watching with interest as it bounced off his ribs and forced a weak _Oof_ out of him. The three of them settled into a comfortable quiet as they all simultaneously realized how hungry they really were. Temari pulled a chair out from under the lone table and sat down while Gaara shuffled over to sit beside Kankuro on the couch. Cellophane crinkling and tearing overlapped the small shifts in the atmosphere as they tore the disposable chopsticks off the side of the cups and then began to eat silently.

Hinata entered the room after that, quietly pulling back a chair at the table and sitting down.

Temari blinked, speaking after swallowing a mouthful of noodles. "You're not having any?"

"I ate already," Hinata replied. Her hands curled atop her knees underneath the table. "Please don't mind me. It's not the greatest, but I hope it's okay."

"It's fine," Gaara said.

Were the circumstances different it could have been home. Had the room not have been a tomb of foreign memories, swollen with shades of gray, melancholy lingering in the air as an almost physical thing. Were the shadows not flickering as black rain darkly illuminated the windows, unlit shapes so silent they crushed every noise. And had the cold not become a growing, palpable essence; everything shimmering with a frigid sheen, almost as if Naruto had draped his soul over the apartment to say that, _I'm not here now, but I never really left_._ Wait for me because I'll be home soon. _

The four of them were strangers encircling the calm, individually infiltrated by that very harmony with its merciless minions.

Kankuro decided to fracture the odd moment. "So. . . Hinata." He took a long drink from the bottled water before screwing the top back on. "That guy, Shikamaru. Did he tell you anything?"

Hinata blinked. "Anything?"

"About the mission," Kankuro shrugged. He poked at the collection of noodles with his chopsticks. "He was pretty tight-lipped about it earlier. If you know anything it'd be cool if you'd share. I'm not big on being led around by a string."

Hinata bit her lip in thought, pallid skin curving with a soft elegant symmetry like an ethereal swan. "Um. . . not much. He said he was going to explain everything later after meeting again with Hokage-sama. All he really said was that. . . that it involved an assassination. Other than that. . ."

Gaara's features narrowed, but he did not break his silence.

"Hmm," Temari intoned, her mouth closed as she chewed a strip of beef deliberately. She thought aloud after swallowing. "Shouldn't be too tough since we're heading way out West. Won't be any other ninjas interfering, I suppose. . . unless there's discrepancies. Yeah." She shook her head, skewering her thoughts. "What am I saying? There's _always_ discrepancies with kill-missions."

Hinata looked at Temari with obvious discomfort. "You've. . . all done that? Those kinds of missions before?"

"Yeah," Kankuro confirmed. "So?"

A pensive energy enveloped Hinata's face in the ghostlight. Her head lowered slightly, ice-optics rolling across the other three like glossed marbles. Hinata opened her mouth slightly, then closed it shortly thereafter. ". . . No," she eventually murmured. "Nothing."

Kankuro frowned. "Hey, if you've got something to say. . ."

Temari gave Kankuro a warning glance. "She said it was nothing. Let it be."

"Oh, I see," Kankuro countered, somewhat insolently. He lowered his cup of ramen, body straightening. "How nice of you to be so accepting and trustful of her even though we just met her."

Temari didn't bother staring down her brother. "And how nice of _you_ to be saying that kind of thing right to her face."

Kankuro snorted. "Pff. At least I'm not patronizing her. I don't doubt she doesn't trust us, so why should we extend the same courtesy?" He turned slightly to face Hinata, his look neither condescending nor hostile—simply assured. "Am I right?"

"I. . ." Hinata started, but then found she had no words that could adequately respond. Eventually she simply admitted as such. "I don't know what to say to that. Sorry."

After watching Hinata wilt somewhat, Temari glared at Kankuro. "You know, just when I think you can't possibly be any more of an _ass_. . ."

Kankuro shoveled ramen into his mouth to smother his annoyance. "Oh please. It's because I respect her that I don't trust her. We don't know anything about her aside from what we saw at the preliminaries. Same goes both ways."

Hinata's voice was an echo; redirected and fractal sound across towering surfaces. "It's not like that for me. You needn't feel that way. . ."

Kankuro shrugged. "It's nothing personal. It's just the way I am."

"I meant. . . about respecting me."

Utilizing what discretion he controlled, Kankuro chose not to respond. He instead returned his attention to his dinner—unlike Temari who ushered a probing, analytical stare at Hinata, naked scrutiny proving her caution and doubt. Kankuro took a quick drink from the bottle, cool warmth intermingling and then flowing down.

Without looking up, Gaara spoke. ". . . Perhaps we should just say there's a divide to be bridged and leave it at that. Antagonizing each other won't solve anything at this point."

No one else said anything. Kankuro eventually sighed. "True enough." He forced himself to look at Hinata. ". . . Sorry."

She nodded. "It's okay. Me too." Her hands fidgeted in her lap. "Is the ramen okay? I can take it back and heat it up some more if it's too cold still."

"Seriously, it's fine," Temari answered, her voice an empty glide. "Stop worrying about it." A series of moments tortured with awkward tools mangled their company. Temari brushed her feet together under the table, her toes suddenly very cold. "So. . . Hinata-chan. What do you do for fun around this town?"

Hinata's eyebrows raised. "Fun?"

"Well, yeah," Temari returned with a tiny smile. "I assume you're familiar with the concept."

"Not too much. . ." Hinata spent the next few moments trying to coalesce her life into a structure that could be articulated. Much like before when she did the same with Shikamaru she was struck with the mediocrity of her static existence. Diversity beyond her grasp. "I spend most of my time on the family grounds when I'm not doing missions or training with my team. I take. . . an extra curriculum of taijutsu from my older cousin at the family dojo to concentrate better on my Gentle Fist. Um. . . I don't. . . really do all that much." Hinata paused, feeling somewhat embarrassed about the next admission. "I keep a small garden."

Gaara looked up at her. "What do you plant?"

If she had been off-center before, Gaara's actual attention crashed into her emotional scaffolding, her thoughts crashing down around her like metal tubes and bent screws. She forced herself to look at her hands, clumped together in pale fists in her lap. "W-Well. . . I recently planted a few magnolia trees across from the cherry blossoms. I. . . like the smell of azaleas, so I have a lot of those, too. It's not a very diverse garden."

"You put yourself down a lot," Temari commented. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh, um. . ." Hinata swallowed, wishing she had the foresight to buy herself some water. "Sorry."

Temari finished her ramen off with a sigh. "Don't apologize. It was just an observation."

Conversation atrophied and Hinata let it do so. The siblings finished their dinner while keeping to themselves, and Hinata decided not to pry at them. Even had she possessed the kind of social courage necessary to even ask them questions to begin with, she was internally marred by the obvious visceral chasm shorn down the center of the room. Effort was overwhelmed by an intrinsic device as—in spite of her will pushing for her not to—her eyes constantly revolved over to Gaara every few seconds; muscles twitching with bioelectric currents, nerves sweltering within the badlands of self. It took nearly every fold of resolve she had within herself not to shake.

A muffled _thump_ pounded on the ceiling above them, their eyes raised to the cracked masonry.

"About bloody time," Kankuro muttered.

Temari quickly drained the contents of her water bottle. "I'll get it," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Anticipation was rewarded by the quiet knock at the door just as she was stepping off of the chair. She opened the door with a sarcastic grin. "Why hello and good evening, crybaby. You're looking awfully drenched tonight."

Standing before her, soaked from head to toe, was Shikamaru. Hair drawn down his back, water dripping from every corner of his clothing. He rolled his eyes. "Very observant of you. Saw the lights on, so I figured you were already. . ." He trailed off when Temari didn't move to stop blocking the doorway. His left eyebrow arced. "Hey, I'm wet. Mind getting out of the way?" He entered with a grunt as Temari gave him a strange look that said, _Oh, I guess if I have to_, closing the door behind him. "Thanks." He took off his sandals, looking across the room at everyone. "Yo. Am I late?"

Kankuro watched from a distance. "A tad."

Shikamaru shrugged. "She wouldn't let me go." He winced as he slid out of his sopping Chuunin vest, stained dark by the water. A wet-gray trail ran over the carpet where he stood. He lifted the vest, looking at it painfully. He let it hang on the doorknob. "Tch, and they only give you one of these things, too."

"Hey, don't apologize for leaving us in the rain for almost half an hour or anything," Kankuro said, crossing his arms.

"Oh," Shikamaru returned with a yawn. He looked back at Kankuro, guided by an uninterested stare. "Did I do that?"

Temari returned to her seat, speaking without facing him. "All signs point to 'yes'." She gestured to Hinata with an extended finger. "Hinata-chan here came along and saved the day."

Hinata blushed. "I borrowed a key to the apartment from Sakura-chan in case you were late."

Shikamaru scratched his head, looking down at the dripping-silver in his hand. "Guess I didn't need Shizune to give me this, then. Oh well." His head perked up slightly as the scent of simulated spices caught his attention. He noticed the empty cups on the table. "Hey, instant ramen."

"I'll get you some," Hinata volunteered, pushing her chair away with the back of her knees.

Shikamaru nodded. "Thanks." He hesitated for a moment before stepping further into the apartment due to his inundated stature, but eventually put that aside. Anything he marked would be untraceable by the time Naruto eventually returned. He made his way over to the table, claiming the final chair as his own. "Well. . . so here we are. Damn, what a day. Just when I think things are starting to begin to make some kind of sense, something more troublesome comes along. I'll be glad to be rid of this mission."

The siblings casually observed Shikamaru's near oblivious movements. Temari rested her elbows on the table, face pointed towards him with her chin cupped by the base of her palms. Her eyes, however, were twisted to the side—analyzing the fractured shadows spilling out of the kitchen, listening to each and every one of Hinata's small, efficient movements. When her superior hearing detected the sound of the burner being started again, her attention returned to Shikamaru.

Temari's voice was suppressed. "So. . . Hey, let me ask you something."

Shikamaru was busy rubbing his tired eyes. "Uh huh?"

Her eyes darted to the kitchen once more. "Do you have a thing for subservient girls, or is there some other kind of thing you have going on that we should know about?"

Exhausted gestures halted. Shikamaru's fingers spread, his frowning gaze meeting hers through them. "How's that?"

Temari's head tilted in a subtle gesture. "She's very nice and polite and everything. . . first-class shinobi material? Dunno. She seems more of a liability than an asset."

Kankuro nodded. "Yeah, I was kind of wondering that myself."

Shikamaru looked as though he thought his reasoning should have been obvious. His voiced bordered on incredulous. "I don't have to justify to any of you why I decided Hinata would be a good choice for this group."

"Alright, fine," Temari conceded, her voice still soft. "Don't justify. _Tell_ us, then? If it's not too 'troublesome'."

Shikamaru made an annoyed noise at the back of his throat. ". . . Jeez. It was an on the fly decision, alright? I thought she'd fit with this group well. Her abilities compliment yours. And her personality fits with. . . wait, why am I explaining this? Forget it."

Temari blinked once, slowly. "A leader shouldn't keep secrets from his team."

"A team should trust its leader," Shikamaru countered.

Gaara's voice entered the discussion like a cushioned meteor. "Trust isn't automatically given. A leader needs to earn it first."

Shikamaru looked at the three of them, sighing. "What is this, twenty questions? What's wrong with Hinata?"

"I'm. . . sorry if I'm a disappointment."

Hinata stood in the doorway, head tilted to watch the steaming ramen she held in her hands. Gloom permeating from her skin, her eyes, her fingers, her body, her essence. Candlelight flickered behind her—a sad and gentle shadow lingering in a sleeping distortion. Her words were genuine, an apology that was delivered with unmasked conviction and sincerity. Hair framed her face like swooping ravens along a glass cathedral.

Her grip tightened around Shikamaru's ramen as everyone stared at her. "If you think there'd be someone better. . ."

Temari winced, kicking herself internally. "Shit. Sorry, that was callous of us. It's not that. It was mostly teasing."

"I wasn't," Kankuro said, his voice lacking malice. "I was serious."

"Kankuro. . ." Temari warned, her voice tired.

Kankuro frowned. "Stop jumping on me every time I do something logical, alright?" He shrugged, falling back against the couch. "Here's how I see it. We're not friends. None of us are. We're nations who were formally blood enemies that're now allied. If that means we stick our necks on the line for each other, fine. I'm willing to do that. Hell, we've already _done_ that. But look at the circumstances. Everything about the last few days screams bullshit." Thoughts retracted from the immediate moment, illuminating the insidious deceptions and merciless bloodbath for them to behold. "Only a fool wouldn't be on edge. So how about we all stop pretending that everything is fine and we're old pals and accept the fact that we're all going to be naturally suspicious of each other?"

Shikamaru muttered something incomprehensible while shaking his head, before sighing. ". . . Fine." He intercepted Temari's move to counter by speaking first. "No. Really." He turned slightly, his face utterly impassive. "Hinata, sit down." He accepted the ramen she offered him, watching her carefully as she sat down next to him—noticing the way her fingers shook when she pulled the chair back. "Thanks. If that's how it's going to be, that's that. He's right. We don't know each other very well. But that doesn't really matter. All we need to do is work together well enough to get through this troublesome mission. We don't need to be friends. We don't even need to like each other." He snapped the disposable chopsticks off the side. "We just have to do it."

Temari gave an audible groan, falling back into her chair. "What a pleasant experience this is shaping into."

Shikamaru shrugged, his attention on his dinner. "It's an espionage and assassination mission. Somehow I don't think that 'pleasant' is in the brochure."

Temari's fingernails tapped the tabletop in an effort to be annoying. "Doesn't mean we can't make it pleasant. I understand. . . Yeah. I understand fine. I get it. All that makes sense to me, and I guess I kind of agree with it to an extent. But I don't see why trying to get along and be civil to each other would be such a chore. Sure, Kankuro can be obnoxious as hell—"

Kankuro glared. "Up yours."

Temari continued without paying him attention. "—and then. . ." She slowed, taking in Gaara's stoic features for a moment. "There's. . . the past, but I don't see why. . ." She huffed, slamming the table gently to purposefully shake Shikamaru's cup. "Oh, forget it. Fine. If we're all going to be little machines running around killing people, _fine_. No point in me arguing. I've done it before and I can do it again. Just remember when it all goes south because one or more of us gets too pig-headed what I just said."

Pressure circled the room like coyotes around a wounded vagabond. Gaara's head moved forward, red-shine form piercing the light with darkened features. ". . . We'll need to at least get along," he stated, as if it were an indisputable truth. He did not waver under the attention of the other stray hounds. He commanded indisputable power over the other four, an intangible potency tempered by the carnal forge of his past. He looked plainly at Shikamaru. "To function as a cohesive unit. There will need to be some degree of unity. That's basic team mentality. I agree with Temari."

Hinata swallowed, her nod barely perceptible. "Me too."

". . . Alright," Shikamaru resigned. "That's how it goes then. We'll deal with that aspect later." With a shrug he considered the topic closed, and began to dig his chopsticks into the steaming mass before him. "So let's do this whole briefing thing then and get on with our lives." He paused to chew thoughtfully, wincing slightly as his damp arms ached with the cold air. "The very first thing I should get out there is for you three. I was talking with Hokage-sama and there's a few extra details that've come up. The most important being that Tsunade-sama has figured that the incident on the Konoha Highway was staged by Kurama to some degree. Whether or not his intent was the massacre is up in the air still, but he did have a hand in the information leak for sure."

Temari nodded. "Right. . . we all kind of suspected that. I guess you guys caught him with his hand in the cookie jar or something?"

"Something like that. The ANBU investigative squad apparently linked up with some of your people earlier this afternoon. They didn't give me all the details, and I didn't ask." Shikamaru paused as a yawn stretched though his system. He shook his head. "But the contract issued to your Sensei was a forgery. It was paid through illegitimate means and then when they were passing it down the channels someone from Mountain Country stepped in and made a few adjustments."

Gaara frowned. "That means our inclusion is nullified. We have no obligation or attachment to the situation."

Shikamaru took a long, needy drink from his water; draining half the bottle in one dousing. The others began to notice his forlorn demeanor wasn't really an act. He nodded at Gaara. "Uh huh. That's it in a nutshell. Konoha is going to continue with Kurama's mission under a pretext of investigating the source of the sabotage, but Suna's involvement has been officially withdrawn. You guys don't need to be here. You're free to reject the mission."

Kankuro blinked. "Just like that?"

"Yep."

"That's a bit odd," Temari observed. "No strings? We just walk, no dirty hands and obligations? That sounds a bit sketchy."

Shikamaru shrugged his left shoulder. "Don't look at me. . . it's your people who've passed down the withdrawal command. Well. . . okay, maybe not _command_. It's not officially an order."

Gaara caught on. "Meaning that we still have the prerogative to assist Konoha."

"Yeah. You can either go home or come with us, but it's your choice. Pretty good deal for you guys, really." Shikamaru stopped at that point, quickly finishing off what was left of his dinner. When the warm juices finished streaming down his throat he sat back with a sigh, draping his arm over the back of the chair. "Whew. . . what time is it? Man. I'm not big on ramen, but that was. . . Thanks for that, Hinata."

Hinata nodded with a shy smile. "You're welcome."

Shikamaru sniffled, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger feeling the water covering him cool. "So yeah. Before we go any further you guys have to decide whether or not you still want in. If you want to walk away, now's your chance. I'll simply have to pick up a few additional units to compensate. No hard feelings either way, I'm told."

"You're told?" Kankuro echoed.

"Yeah." Shikamaru looked at him as if he were one of his students. "Frankly, I don't care either way."

Temari made a sound similar to a clipped laugh. "Oh you're just a real charmer." She rested her elbows on the table again, looking over to the couch at her brothers. "Well? I guess we should make a decision between the three of us. What do—"

"We're taking the mission," Kankuro interceded, words stained with finality.

Gaara's head turned.

Temari stared back at Kankuro with a bemused look. "Oh, we are? And why are we?"

"I don't think I need to explain," Kankuro told her. "You know why."

"Well, damn. . ." Temari closed her eyes, scratching the back of her head with her fingernails. "Stubborn as always. No way I could convince you otherwise." She made an impassive gesture, afterwards capturing Shikamaru in her soft blue. "Guess I'm in, then."

All eyes fell on Gaara. After a moment he nodded.

"So there you have it," Shikamaru announced. "We're officially a team now." He slowed himself as a sneeze surged up and then died down before actualizing. He frowned. He hated that. "So now onto the fine details."

Hinata leaned forward. ". . . W-Would anyone like some tea? I think I saw some in the kitchen."

Temari caught Hinata's subtle attempt to take a small measure of action towards Shikamaru's ailment, but decided it could wait. "Later. We should just get on with it for now."

Shikamaru nodded. "Yeah, might as well get this over with." He gave Hinata a concealed look that indicated he was grateful for her consideration, but then dejectedly realized she didn't know him well enough to see through his various layers of apathy to genuine emotion. He left the moment behind. "Our mission is threefold: first is the obvious, which is the contract from Mountain Country itself. We've been hired officially to assassinate High Chamberlain Ulema of the Diacuoite Religious Order because she apparently represents a major threat to the country's current social stability. Whether or not she really does is all up in the air, but the order stands. The second and third objectives are all Wind and Fire originated. They're to be carried out in a way that would keep them secret from any of the people who've taken out this contract."

"Investigation of Secretary Kurama," Gaara said.

"Yeah. Him and his associates. We're supposed to figure out exactly what his real intentions are, who his friends are, and the shape of his political allegiances."

"Kind of. . ." Kankuro started, but then took his thoughts in a different direction. "Are we supposed to kill him after that since he rigged the route or whatever?"

Shikamaru shook his head. "We're supposed to handle that as we deem necessary. If he's a threat to either Wind or Fire, yes. If he has plans outside of what's on the contract that have direct affect on our countries, the contract is void and he's to be eliminated. If not, we're not supposed to touch him."

"Tch. . ." Kankuro's face failed to conceal his disdain. "Kind of soft-hearted, isn't it? He already was directly responsible for some of our losses."

"Doing something like that without a really visible and just cause would create larger problems," Shikamaru explained. He tapped his fingertips against his knee. "Right now our countries _have_ no affiliation or relationship with Mountain. . . apparently all the top brass are against the idea of making them into an enemy. We'll have to hand him over to Mountain Country authorities at the end of all this to pacify the situation, so that'll be out of our hands."

"That's garbage," Kankuro decided. "Hand him _over_? They'll just give him a slap on the wrist!"

Temari nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's right. If this is really all about public and social change, they'll probably laud him as a hero for getting the ball rolling. Hell, punishing him after that'll make him into a martyr. I'll bet that's what he's really after."

Shikamaru shrugged, shoulders rolling forward. "Could well be. But that's what our orders are. We're supposed to let him roam free until we've gathered enough intelligence to decide whether or not he and his buddies represent a threat to Konoha or Suna. If he does, fine. He dies. If not, we arrest him and turn him over to Mountain's authorities with the information we possess."

Kankuro snorted derisively. "Lame. Really. . ."

Internal affairs often convoluted what could have been a straightforward situation. Living in a society of stealth and intense regimen where violence was the epitome of strength, most ninjas lived by the 'eye for an eye' axiom. If someone was killed unjustly, they could expect similar reprisals. Bureaucratic descent through diplomatic channels tainted what was considered an ancient, primal and sanctified metaphysical law. Ninjas were instruments of death. To belay that device, to hold back that retribution when it was poised to act upon the realization of its existential purpose was akin to spiritual heresy for some.

Hinata, who had never found comfort in focusing upon death, kept the conversation moving. ". . . What was the third part?"

Shikamaru poked idly at his empty cup with a chopstick. "Right. The third aspect is that we'll be working in tandem with a second intelligence group. Apparently that group is just going to consist of only one shinobi. They'll be in contact with us and we'll share information and coordinate maneuvers if necessary. They'll be doing most of the footwork regarding the investigation of Mountain's subterfuge attempts. For secrecy and all that."

"Who'll be this group?" Temari asked. "One of us, or. . ."

"One of the Jonin from Konoha. Hokage-sama didn't tell me who."

Gaara pondered that for a brief moment. "Have they already been briefed?"

Shikamaru nodded. "Yeah. They'll be meeting up with us in a few days after we've already left and we'll work out some kind of schedule with them then."

Temari leaned back, draping her folded arm over the chair. "Sounds like a lot to do for just one mission."

Sudden recollection revived in Shikamaru's mind. "Oh, yeah. That reminds me." He turned to Hinata sheepishly. "I was wrong earlier. My timeframe was a bit off."

Confusion chewed through Hinata's apprehension with saw-teeth. "Off? What do you mean?"

Shikamaru purged a momentary dizzy yaw across his eyes, covering the tired vertigo by taking another drink of water. "I told Hinata a few hours ago that this mission was going to take probably about three weeks," he explained to the others, setting the bottle down and staring blankly at its pulsing, broken clarity. "I said that going on less information than I have now. It's actually going to take a lot longer than that. So you should all know that before agreeing to come along if you've. . . I don't know, got something coming up. Or whatever."

"How long are you talking about exactly?" Kankuro asked.

Analytical thoughts escaped through narrowed human ramparts. Shikamaru felt unease churn in the grimy depths of his stomach. "This part is a real pain. . . See, I only really thought of it in terms of travel time. But with all the excess intelligence we'll have to get. . . takes about two weeks travel time to get to Mountain Country. We have to make about five stops on the way there in a few smaller towns as is part of the contract. They want us to be continually connected to Kurama. Then there's also travel time in the country itself. . ." He shrugged, still lazily captured by the shifting water remaining in his bottle. "Final estimation is looking at somewhere in the range of two to three months."

Temari's brow lifted. "Holy crap. That's. . . for one mission. . ."

"A long damn time," Kankuro finished with similar surprise.

Gaara took the information blithely. "To be expected given the distance and objectives."

"I'm. . . still okay with that, Shikamaru-kun," Hinata said. "I agreed to come, so I'll stay on until the end."

"Yeah," Shikamaru answered noncommittally. He fed the Suna trio through his vision. "Still fine with you guys?"

"Yes," Kankuro answered, coming down hard on the word as if it were a curse. "Stop asking."

Shikamaru frowned at Kankuro's almost inexplicable ire, taking effort to strip his own gathering irritation before speaking again. "Okay then. I guess then we'll have to talk about—"

Temari interceded. "Before that, do you have any hard info on Mountain? If we're going to be dumping all this time of our lives into a mission, I'd at least like to have some kind of idea where we're going for it. You know?"

Shikamaru sighed as she derailed his narrative. ". . . I guess I could."

Kankuro's fingers flexed, his body twitching. "Why do you have to act like everything is such a pain for you?"

Temari snorted. "That's an interesting comment, coming from you."

There was a moment of eerie calm as Shikamaru sighed, pushing his fingers into his brow in an effort to disguise his frown. He didn't like people like Kankuro, but as a leader he had to discard his personal devices. "Whatever. There's not much to know. . . it's way out West at the edge of one of the various mountain ranges. The elevation of the country is pretty high so it's really cold supposedly. Especially at this time of year since it's getting closer to Winter." His wracked his elaborate, multi-layered thoughts for a revival memory. "Hmm. . . if I remember correctly most of the cities used to be built inside the mountains themselves. Big cavernous things. . . not sure if they still do things that way. I don't think so. Apparently the scenery is really impressive."

His knowledge was a vast and astronomical thing, though it sometimes took a few moments to penetrate its swelling depths. He continued in a thoughtful voice. "About the people, though, I'm not really sure. All I know is that it's in pretty bad shape. Lots of infighting and everything. I think I overheard Hokage-sama mention a civil war, or there was one recently, or there's going to be one, or something like that." Dirt-encrusted images flashed and his thumbnail scratched his chin as he chose his next words carefully. "So. . . yeah, the country is rather. . . unpleasant."

"It's a shithole," Kankuro observed.

Shikamaru nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

"That's terrible," Hinata murmured.

Temari's fingers drummed on the table, cheek resting in her other hand. "And it being a Western Country. . . full of machinery and gunpowder. Right? So I guess they're pretty reliant on their army. We shinobi should be a pretty weird sight for them."

"Blending in will become mandatory," Gaara stated. "It will be difficult to move around if we're abnormal to everyone and everything."

Shikamaru nodded his agreement. "Yeah. We'll have to move slowly, which is part of the mission's length. It's going to be annoying, but we don't really have a way around it."

Hinata's fingers played absently with the soft mane of her light jacket. "I. . . guess we'll have to bring a lot of warm clothing if we're going to be in such a cold place for so long."

Temari's eyes widened. "Oh damn, that's right. Shit. We don't really have. . ."

Kankuro waved her concern aside. "It's fine. We'll manage."

Shikamaru feigned obfuscation for a moment, although he had been expecting that. "Ah yeah. . . I guess living in the middle of the desert. . . there's a few places you could go to pick up those kinds of things in town before we leave." He took a furtive glance at his watch. "I think there's a few twenty-four hour basic nin-needs shops that will be good enough."

Temari coughed, looking at him expectantly. "You think?"

He shrugged indifferently. "I don't do a lot of shopping."

"Yeah," Kankuro stepped in snidely. "Looks like your Mom has you in her back pocket."

Although it had been intended as a poorly structured jab, Shikamaru shuddered at how accurate the words were. "Ugh. Don't even start." He clicked his tongue in thought, dissolving his neurotic urge to place his thumbs together in thought. "Well, that's pretty much all the important stuff, I think. Unless you guys really want to know the boring parts, but I have a feeling I'd fall asleep if I starting talking about those." Lethargy exploded, twisting a yawn across the sleeping emerald fields inside of him. "Man. . ."

"So when do we leave?" Gaara asked.

"Tomorrow morning at eleven. That gives you guys time to do what you have to before we take off. We'll be meeting up with our intel-unit in about five days." Shikamaru rubbed his cold hands together. "Yeah. . . so there you have it."

After a moment the previous tension began to slowly alleviate, lifting off the room like a morning fog. Temari ignored the minions of exhaustion reaching our to claim her internal machinery, slumping slightly against her elbows. Hair fell about her shoulders like soft feathers. "Hmm. I guess if we still have some time we could. . ." She caught herself yawning, covering her mouth politely with some embarrassment. ". . . Nah."

Hinata looked at her, venturing a guess as to what she was hinting at. "Um. . . would you like that tea now?"

Temari nodded with a smile. "That'd be great."

As Hinata made her way once again into the kitchen, Kankuro stood, fabric rustling and the weapons in his pouch shifting together. "If we're all done then I'm heading out." He stretched for a moment, cracking his knuckles. Then he pointed right at Shikamaru. "You. Outside."

Shikamaru looked as if he had no intention of going anywhere. "Oh? Why?"

Temari, head splayed over her arms on the table with closed eyes, spoke with a muffle into her clothes. "Kankuro, it's late. We're tired. Don't start a fight."

"I wasn't going to. I just have some things that I need to talk to lazy-ass here about."

Shikamaru felt his face slide into the preset and familiar coordinates of a bothered, effortless wilt. Instead of arguing with Kankuro, he tried being diplomatic. "You know, the moment you guys agreed to this mission you accepted that I was your leader. And that means this whole conversation and everything after it will end up in my report if I think it needs to be there. How do you think Suna will feel if you agitated the first diplomatic-unity mission of our alliance just because you had a problem with authority?"

Gaara looked as if he agreed. "He has a point. Perhaps you should—"

"Yeah, yeah," Kankuro muttered. He began to walk over towards the corner where he had left Karasu. "Fine. I take that back. Outside _please_, then."

Shikamaru gave no indication of acquiescence. "Why outside?"

Kankuro turned to him, swinging the life-sized marionette of wood, steel and weaponry over his shoulder. "Do you see a lot of private corners in this hole?"

After a long, thoroughly irritated minute, Shikamaru grunted. He placed his palms onto the table and forced himself to stand. "And I was just starting to get dry. . ." He walked over to the door where his vest still hung, shivering as his fingers touched its icy surface. Taking a quick breath through his teeth his swung the vest around and enclosed himself in the freezing, dripping jacket. Lethargy blasted outside of his galactic rim. "Is this going to take long?"

"No," Kankuro answered, standing beside him. "Just a minute."

Shikamaru nodded, turning to face the kitchen. "I'll be right back then. Hinata?"

There was a momentary pause in the movement from the other room. "Okay. . . I'll make you a cup of tea then too, Shikamaru-kun."

Shikamaru winced as frigid rainwater rolled down his leg. "Alright then. . . everybody in the pool."

Without a word to his siblings or Hinata, Kankuro opened the door and stepped into the black-wash night. After hesitating for a moment, his thoughts dangling above a chasm of uncertainty, Shikamaru followed.

x x x x x 

The moment Shikamaru had closed the door behind him, Kankuro's fingers intertwined with his bundled hair and heaved his head to the side. Brute force unleashed a sudden surge of agony through his scalp, rainwater falling over his widened eyes, vision twisted into an ultramarine smear. Kankuro pulled with such intensity as to uproot Shikamaru from the ground for a flashing moment, the young Chuunin's sandals dragging a hollow and serrated tattoo across the metal balcony. Before Shikamaru could consider a suitable counterstrategy against the sudden offensive, Kankuro's other arm came around.

Shikamaru's eyes widened as the razor-iron edge of a kunai skirted the shore of his throat: glistening black running along the skin-armor protecting his carotid artery. He froze, meeting Kankuro's eyes, and everything became very still. Kankuro's eyes reflected a cavern of unreadable feelings; juggernaught of skepticism clad in a livid human carapace. A submission of glances traded between them, Kankuro's hands teetering Shikamaru's life over the oblivion abyss with a facial mask as empty as the yawning depths. Violet warpaint slashed across a macabre and tribal face. Rain fell upon and around them like an otherworldly choir.

A long moment elapsed. Eventually, Shikamaru's lips twisted in a sarcastic smile. "You should be careful. . . someone might get a mixed signal and think you really are after a fight."

Emotion filtered across Kankuro's face, punctuated with a scoff. "Let's make this brief. I don't like you. Alright?"

"Fair enough. The feeling's mutual."

"Maybe if I hadn't had to have helped save your sorry excuse of a rescue mission or if you hadn't made a fool out of Temari at the Exams things would be. . . well." Kankuro shrugged his right shoulder, hand moving in Shikamaru's hair slightly. "No use crying over it now."

"Funny that she seems to have moved on from that and you haven't," Shikamaru pointed out. He kept his gaze level. "What do you care?"

A sudden evil arose and contorted Kankuro's face, teeth slipping underneath his raised lip in a feral sneer. Lightning sizzled across the sky, the blade in his hand flashing obsidian for a brief moment. "Don't underestimate Temari. That's the only advice I'm going to give you. You have no clue about her. You have no idea how terrifying her wrath can be. Just because she isn't all on the surface doesn't mean she isn't capable of _hating_ someone." Kankuro paused, waiting for the following thunder to ebb into nothing. "Don't assume what you see is what she is."

Shikamaru didn't respond immediately, his face now impassive. Eventually he shrugged with what little movement he was granted. "So. . . is this going anywhere? Or are we going to stand here and get wet over your misguided brotherly feelings?"

Kankuro resisted the urge to spit in his face. "Asshole. This has nothing to do with her. Or Gaara. Or anyone else except me and you. You might be in charge, but that doesn't mean I acknowledge you. You act like everything is a chore, like taking care of our lives is some tragic interference with your own lazy schedule. And I don't appreciate that. The last team you led would have _died_ if it wasn't for us." Solid structure lessoned slightly as Kankuro's face lost some of its sinister ire, slowly morphing back into the aloof machinery it was moments before. "You better be as smart as Temari thinks you are. Because I'll be watching."

"I'm terrified."

"You should be," Kankuro replied. His voice resonated with conviction. "I'd take your fear over this bored apathy any day of the week. Just remember that I'm going to be the one watching your back now." Fingers tilted slightly, pressing the metal blade against Shikamaru's skin with a slight increase in pressure, holding back at the resistance point just before skin would slice. "Don't give me a reason to look away. Understand?"

Shikamaru sniffled, rivulets of water tracing his face. "Yeah. Fine."

Kankuro didn't reply to that. He held the kunai with expertise, his hand keeping Shikamaru's jaw tilted to the left, desert-soaked eyes burrowing into the younger ninja's gaze. A few more tortured moments crawled by as Kankuro searched Shikamaru's face for some unspecified recognition, or feeling thereof, before pulling back. His fingers disentagled and the kunai disappeared into the weapons pouch at his waist. Kankuro took a step back, thumb rubbing the frayed thread of his puppet strung over his shoulder.

Finally Kankuro snorted, feeling that he'd made his point. ". . . Feel free to put that in your report. Have a nice night."

Shikamaru didn't respond as Kankuro swung himself up onto the roof of the apartment complex and leapt off into the city. He simply stood there in the perpetual dampness of the falling night, his hand rubbing the skin of his neck where the knife had rested. A variety of angry mantras ran a devastating halo around the orbit of his rationality. After several minutes of silently fuming by himself, Shikamaru turned and went back inside.

x x x x x 

Temari remained prone as her brother dragged Shikamaru outside. With her eyes closed, head cradled in the nook of her folded arms, she appeared to have fallen asleep. She knew perfectly well she was still in foreign surroundings and her senses were acutely aware in case immediate action was needed, but one would not have been able to discern that from simply looking at her. Her chest rose and fell in a soft continuum, breathing with a natural clarity that escaped in a sigh that was almost melancholic.

The two of them alone in the room, Gaara carefully watched his drowsy sister. ". . . Can I ask you something?"

"Mm," Temari replied ambiguously.

Gaara took her noise as an affirmative. "You're being awfully. . . nice to them. It's not like you." He caught himself tapping his fingers against his leg, feeling bizarre that he would possess a nervous gesture. "Why is that?"

Temari's forehead rolled side to side to mimic a shake of her head with minimal movement. "Dunno. I feel like it? No, I guess that's not true. . . I guess because I feel obligated. You're right, it's not really like me. If anything, I really do agree with Kankuro. But you know. . . I figure, if we're going to be working together, might as well at least pretend to like each other. And this probably sounds. . . strange, but. . ." She leaned back, eyes cracking open like rusty azure gates. She stared at the ceiling. "That guy. I trust his judgment."

"Hmm. Even though his first mission was led to disaster?"

Temari shrugged. "He beat me, didn't he?"

Gaara knew how confident Temari was in her abilities. He also knew, explicitly, how warranted her assurance was. Few people really understood how much power she was capable of wielding. "True. I was just taken back. You aren't usually. . . warm to others."

She turned to him, her expression both passive and amused at the same time. "You can say I'm a 'bitch'. Kankuro would. I wouldn't necessarily disagree."

He didn't reply. In the past he would have said nothing out of sheer indifference to what she thought. Now he simply said nothing because he decided that judging her with regards to her behavior would be monstrously hypocritical. Often, in recent times, he would come to loathe what he had chosen to transform into. Now that he was burdened with the concepts of trust and concern, he often found himself ensnared in temporal paradoxes of his own creation. The world bled gray. He respected her too much to speak.

Fresh breeze swirled into the apartment as the door opened again, Shikamaru stepping back inside hastily. He tore his Chuunin vest off, tossing it over to the side of the room in a clearly bothered gesture. "Jeez," he started, rubbing his arms. "I mean. . . _why_ is it so damn. . . it's freezing in here." He kicked his sandals off. "Guess they must've cut off Naruto's heat after he left." After looking at the window beside the door that was draped by navy blue curtains, staring as if spying on something he could not see, he gave up and began to make his way towards the bathroom. "I'm going to go see if he's got any towels lying around. I'm not putting up with this troublesome crap."

Temari turned to look at him. She obviously couldn't ascertain his precise crux, but she could guess. "So what did you two talk about?"

Shikamaru rubbed his neck, answering without looking at her. "We compared the size of our muscles. It was a macho-guy kind of thing."

He opened the door to the bathroom, stepped inside and shut it before she could respond.

Temari sat in her chair simmering for a long moment, glaring at the tabletop. "That _idiot_." Her fingers curled into fists. "I told him not to pick a fight."

"He doesn't trust Shikamaru," Gaara supplied. He folded his arms. "Maybe he should handle himself with a bit more composure, but I can't say I disagree with his assessment."

Temari took a breath, eventually dismissing it as another time when Kankuro decided he had something to prove. Her hands smoothed in her lap. "So why haven't you said anything?"

"Because you trust him."

It was raining a thousand miles away right outside.

Shikamaru's movements in the bathroom flooded through the small apartment. Wood jarred as he swung cabinets open, muttering to himself in a disgruntled fervor. In the kitchen, the sound of poorly made porcelain clinked together as Hinata prepared tea for the four of them. Through the far wall the blunted sound of a television spilled through, fraudulent cacophony of a laugh track mocking human emotion. And overwhelmingly through it all was the millions of soft water petals. The sky breathing over another planet.

Temari turned—carefully—to look at her brother. He was everything in the room.

Her chest felt suddenly very heavy, as if she'd swallowed a river of wet sand. Her eyes met his for one moment before it hurt too much to continue, and then she looked away.

"Alright," she said, very quietly. "If that's how you think."

Hinata entered the moment, unaware of the potency flooding its crevices. She carried a small tray with both hands, four teacups resting atop the dull plastic.

She spoke carefully, her eyes on the wavering liquid in the cups. "Naruto-kun only had green tea leaves in his cupboards, so I'm sorry if you're not too fond of it. I checked the expiration note and they're still good for a few more months so it should taste okay," she said calmly, slowly adapting to the proximity of the Suna-nins. She placed the tray on the table.

Temari detached from the previous emotion and grinned. "It's all good. Thanks for making it."

Gaara stood as Hinata sat down. He began to walk over towards his gourd.

Temari picked a cup off of the tray, blowing gently on its shimmering surface. "Where are you heading?"

". . . Out." Gaara attached his ubiquitous benefactor, his body shifting slightly under the added weight. "There are some things I need to take care of before we leave tomorrow."

"Okay," Temari replied, still unable to look at him. "See you later then."

Gaara nodded even though he knew she wouldn't see the gesture. He gave a brief glance to Hinata, then turned and left the apartment.

Hinata watched the interaction with a ghostly distance. She spoke after the door closed. "I. . . hope I didn't offend him."

Temari took a sip of her tea. "Don't be stupid." She worked very hard to obliterate any emotional interference with her next words. Given her training and past, it was a skill she was very gifted at and thus loathed terribly. "He's just not very social, so don't take it personally. Gaara's. . . He's still learning. Being around other people isn't easy for him. Since that time, he's looking at everything in the world through different eyes. It's going to take him a while to readjust."

"Oh," Hinata said quietly, picking a cup of tea for herself. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Temari assured. "I understand. He. . . well, he used to scare me too."

Hinata met her gaze with white-shine eyes. "But he's changed? He seems different than before."

Temari took another sip, letting the herb-water bend over every contour of her tongue before swallowing. She lowered the cup to the table slowly, her hands coiling around its warm surface. ". . . It's still new to me. I've known him all my life. Ever since he was small he was so. . . angry. I'm just keeping my eye on him. He's different and he's changed. Yes. But I'm still cautious myself. You know? Not everyone can change overnight."

"So you. . . believe that he's still. . ."

"I didn't mean him," Temari said. Her face was blank. "I was talking about myself."

Hinata had no words to accompany that, so she simply gave a slight nod. Temari became very distant, staring off into some alternate universe hiding behind the swirling depths of her thoughts. The empty, fragile atmosphere was broken as Shikamaru stepped back into the room with a towel wrapped around his head. He flicked the bathroom light off with a sigh.

"Naruto. . . what a messy guy." His hands rubbed at the towel in his hair. "I don't know how he managed to find anything in here." He sat down, looking aired and sterile, his skin a rosy glow from wiping harsh fabric across it. He draped the towel back over his chair, eyes skirting the now empty couch. "Did Gaara leave?"

"Yeah, just a minute ago," Temari told him, amusement creeping into her voice at the sight of his stringy, scattered hair. "He has some stuff to do."

Shikamaru nodded while yawning. "I see." He blinked once, slowly as Hinata placed a teacup in front of him. "Thanks Hinata." Instead of drinking, he folded his arms across the surface of the table, peering into the swirling emerald. "You know. . . there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Temari blinked. "What's that?"

"Your brother. He's a short-fused snake."

Temari laughed. "You noticed that, huh? Yeah, he's a real piece of work sometimes." She took another sip of tea to refortify her smile. "I'd like to say he'll get better once you get to know him, but that'd just be lying. You might be better off just avoiding him as much as possible. I'm not the hand-holding type so if you've got any shit with him, you'll have to work it out yourself. Same goes for him with you."

Shikamaru frowned. "But you can't. . . you know, reign him in a little? This is going to be a really taxing mission and the last thing I want on my hands is a loose cannon firing off when I really don't need it to."

Temari shrugged. "Kankuro doesn't listen to me very much." Her features contorted in a sheepish haze. "That's probably because I never listen to him."

Hinata skirted a cautious look between the two of them. "He. . . wasn't that bad," she offered gently in a subtle attempt to mediate. She really knew nothing about Kankuro so she decided it would be impractical to judge him on the finite information she did possess. "I understood his ideas and views. Maybe things will get better after we all get to know each other more?"

Letting Hinata's words sink in, Shikamaru reluctantly conceded. "I hope so. Really." He picked up his teacup, taking a long drink, euphoric shudders recoiling through his skin at the warmth. He placed the cup back down with a sniffle. "Damn, it's cold. I should've picked some place with heating."

Temari, antithetical to Kankuro, took a bizarre enthusiasm in Shikamaru's irritation. "Hey, you going to make it? From what you said, we're not exactly heading towards sunny beaches and crystalline ocean water."

"Yeah. . . I don't know. I'll figure something out." He tilted the cup backwards, draining the remnants of the herbal beverage. Breath escaped him in a tired heave. "On that note, I'd better get started on packing."

Temari quickly finished her tea off. "Yeah, me too. Knowing Kankuro he'll either leave everything to the last minute or forget entirely about the warm clothes aspect, so I'd probably better buy his clothes too." She stood, fingers joining behind her head as she stood on the tips of her toes, stretching her body taut. Relaxing into an elastic stance, her hands fell to her hips. "You said there were a few all-nighter places open?"

"Yeah," he said, standing and pushing his chair back against the table. "Around the center of town."

"Think you could show me?"

Shikamaru blinked, looking across to her. "But I've got. . ." He slowed himself as he recognized the fiendishly solid look she was giving him, reconciling the image with his Mother. It was a face that indicated argument was futile. He groaned, shoving his hands into his wet pockets. "Yeah, why not."

Temari nodded, looking down at Hinata. "You going to come too, Hinata-chan?"

Realizing that it was time to go, Hinata quickly drank her tea. She shook her head as she placed their teacups back onto the tray. "Thank you, but. . . I should head home now. Unless you need my assistance. . . I have some things I have to prepare too."

"Nah, it's okay. You go do that. This guy'll be enough. I can get him to carry my things for me."

An incredulous scoff escaped Shikamaru's throat. "Yeah, that's happening."

Temari laughed and Hinata smiled as the three of them set about cleaning up the apartment before leaving. After a long and sadly affectionate stare within, Hinata locked the door behind them.

x x x x x 

To Gaara, a hospital was no different than a tomb.

Well-manicured walls and clinically mended floors did little to hide the specter of reaping souls lurking underneath every ethereal fold. Surfaces awash in disinfectant chemicals were eerily similar to embalming fluids. Dimmed lights humming with a quiet electricity transformed the walls into a sophisticated cavern. Gaara had walked the pathways of these restorative mausoleums in the past: death followed his gaze and his designs, and countless people had been sent to these white-tombstone clad graves to die because of him. Immaculate manors housing the children of a disintegrating construct. His sandals fell gently in the emptiness.

Being Kankuro's brother, there was something of an instinctual sensory molded to his reactions. He knew—rather than suspected—where it was that Kankuro had fled to after he abandoned the briefing. Chakra flared inside his chest like the sudden twitch of a sleeping beast. An angry warmth flickered. Gaara's eyes turned to his right, locating the source of the smoldering chakra, redirecting himself towards it. Water dripped around him.

Gaara stopped at the doorway. He knew Kankuro was behind it. The fluctuating anger radiating from inside the room was almost a tangible thing—hate-waves spilling over a fragile surface, frenzied hands reaching out to capture the undulations and return them before they found the galaxy outside of their control. Across the non-corporeal plane, Gaara could almost see his brother: each one of his fluttering, angry movements as he tried to crush his life back into a cohesive state like a small child trying through frustration to reassemble a sand castle smashed by a stronger and unassailable bully. Failure then followed by the sound of his quiet, sad breathing as he discovered his frenzy was futile and solved nothing. His castle lay in ruins.

In the silence, Gaara hesitated; he did not know what to say or what to do should he confront his brother.

He opened the door anyway.

Kankuro stood quietly next to the bed. A soft pneumatic pulse skirted the room every few seconds from the machinery lining the right-hand wall. The room itself was a dreary and desolate affair, gray shadows enveloping the edges of the ceiling and twisting with an almost organic movement much like the reflection of light off of a watery surface. Gaara closed the door behind him and stepped beside Kankuro without speaking, silently looking down at the shattered body of their Sensei.

Tubes forked into various veins. His eyes were sealed closed: his left eye was bandaged over and most likely had been destroyed, his right stitched shut for whatever reason, an ugly blue line of jagged crosses shearing over his eyelids. Scabs littered his swollen face, obvious stab wounds leaving brutal red lines across the base of his neck. From the remnants, Gaara was amazed that Baki was alive at all. It was a pitiful sight.

Minutes transpired before Kankuro spoke.

". . . He looks wrong." His voice was quiet, and Gaara wasn't able to discern what kind of feeling was animating it. "I wonder if he's dreaming. I wonder. . . what kind of dreams someone could have if they don't even remember who. . . Tch. It shouldn't be like this. I knew he was just a man, but they shouldn't have been able to do. . . _this_ to him." Kankuro scowled, crossing his arms. "He looks pathetic."

Gaara's eyes scanned Baki's rigid, sleeping form with the naked destitution of a coroner as he prepared a corpse for autopsy. He hadn't known Baki particularly well. His childhood was a series of instants aligned to a disconnected grid; each moment of personal contact was terse and hostile, defined by nebulous emotions generally revolving around anger and distrust. Still, he knew Kankuro considered their Sensei to be an important person. He spoke for his brother and not himself:

"He looks peaceful."

Kankuro nodded slightly. "That's what's so wrong about it. We're not peaceful. _He_ wasn't peaceful. We didn't—don't lead those kinds of lives. It's like someone just wiped away everything that made him one of us."

Kankuro's fist tightened, leather and cloth crushed together. Seconds elapsed.

"I'm going to kill them," Kankuro said simply. It was an unwavering statement as if text fed through a machine; regurgitated simply as fact without emotional interference. "Not out of vengeance or revenge or some misguided hate or anything like that. I'm going to kill them because I _can_." Kankuro paused again, face hardening, his internal focal point shifting. His soft breathing flooded the room. ". . . He would never understand that. Maybe that's why I can't respect him. Because he could never think that way. Even if Temari does, I just. . . I can't think his way. I refuse to."

Gaara's head tilted slightly, sphere-points rotating up. "Must he think the same way as you to deserve your respect?"

". . . No. But that's what we are. This man here, and others like him. . . they all taught us. How to kill. How to destroy people's lives. That's what we are, and that's what we live to do, until the day someone does it to _us_. To pretend otherwise is stupid. That's why when we find whoever did this, I'm going to kill them all."

After a few moments of studying his older brother's face, Gaara turned away from the bed and walked over to the door. His enclosed scavenge for comforting words was an infernal ordeal: his thoughts flared and burned up like shards of earthen debris struck by supercharged javelins of lightning. His personal experiences with sympathy were parodies of human comfort. Those that had ever been close to Gaara were fraudulent, pathetic people with interests vested in their own gain given his national stature—or, worse, cruel and manipulative beings intent on destroying him for the sake of their own hatred. Mirror fiends reflecting what he once was himself.

Only Naruto's sympathy, which had been substantiated through violence, held any honesty. Gaara knew he could not mimic that method. That had been their understanding, shared together as a spiritual unison of loneliness. Their resonance was meant for the two of them alone. He would not try to make others understand because he did not want them to.

The lights sputtered in the outside-storm for a moment. Gaara closed his hand around the cold metal of the doorknob, eyes narrowed as his attempt to alleviate Kankuro's obvious conflict failed. As he opened the door to the dimly lit hallway, a soft conversation from the end of the corridor reaching his ears, he turned back briefly. With a guarded and nearly empty expression, Kankuro was watching him; his head turned from where he stood. Gaara frowned and forced himself to speak.

"Death is not a badge."

Gaara stepped into the hallway and closed the door, leaving before Kankuro could respond.

x x x x x 

Kakashi didn't say so aloud, but he somehow knew the surveillance was futile. What remained of the exploded ruins were charred and sodden debris—once symmetrical in design and now simply forested-driftwood. The Highway itself was swollen with gunpowder craters, ugly blemishes carving fire-patterns across the pulverized earth. All of the bodies had been collected and taken into Konoha along with whatever cargo in the carriage could be salvaged, leaving simply a wet black mess. The decayed aftermath was too chaotic and formless for any kind of intelligent reconstruction of the events.

Lazily Kakashi's exposed eye roamed over the small clearing, piecing together the already existing information that had been given to him with what he saw. His hands were keeping dry in his pockets as the rest of his exposed body soaked, gray hair hanging around his head in silvery tendrils. His lanky form maneuvered through the remnants, feet carefully avoiding patches of mud.

An ANBU member, Chifumi, stood a few feet away from him, her white lion-mask shielding her face from view.

Kakashi stopped in front of a shattered wheel, his toe idly pushing the splintered wood. ". . . It might be too late already. The water's soaked into everything. Getting any additional information is probably an impossibility now."

"Probably," Chifumi agreed. She had been on the initial response team that had arrived at the scene of the attack. The ANBU had found Baki lying in a reddened heap of shorn bones and sinew, rushing him to medical care as he floated in a terminal void. The scene was very different in the darkened rain than it had been in the light of day. "We pulled everything we could together from what we could work with but this is the main Highway. Most of the large debris had to be moved off the road a few days ago. Whoever did the attacking was smart about it. They didn't leave much to go on tracery-wise. Not even ripped cloth or blood splatters. Most of that was from the deceased."

Kakashi's vision traced a glint of silver: water running the length of a twisted metal cord. "Assuming Baki managed to fight back."

Chifumi faced him. "It'd be a bit bizarre if he didn't, don't you think?"

"Hn. Maybe."

A rustle captured the attention of both ninjas, a small form bounding out of the labyrinth of shadows surrounding the wreckage. Pakkun's blue cape fluttered as he dropped down from the trees above, landing in front of Kakashi with a grace atypical of a dog. He wore an annoyed expression, and as he sat down his face turned upwards to look at Kakashi with unconcealed irritation. He sniffled once, derisively.

Kakashi pretended not to notice. "Anything?"

"Yes," Pakkun said.

There was a pause. Kakashi waited.

"I'm wet and I smell."

"A shame," Kakashi replied. "Anything else?"

"You're a slave-driver. You know I hate the rain," Pakkun sighed. He had known Kakashi for a very long time, so he was mostly joking about being uncomfortable. Even if there was a sort of undercurrent to what he was implying. He brushed his paw against his wet nose, before using it to point towards the direction from which he came. "Also, a box."

Kakashi looked up. "Hm?"

Pakkun looked back up at Kakashi for a brief moment, then turned and leapt into the trees. Kakashi and Chifumi followed. Damp, soggy leaves brushed their uniforms and exposed skin as they made their way through the treetops; bleeding green trembling in the darkness. Night rain brought a cool wind through the forests, shuddering against them with icy fingers. Forty seconds later Pakkun dropped down from the heights, Kakashi and Chifumi mimicking his drop.

A small group of clustered trees suffocated the meager opening, moss glowing dully against the aged bark. Pakkun trotted over to a specific tree where there was a mound of unearthed soil, the same dark filth caked on his paws. Kakashi's eye caught the obvious and unmistakable glint of metal in the hole Pakkun had dug.

Kakashi dropped to knee-level soundlessly, his weight resting on the balls of his feet. "I see."

Metal dulled by the soil peered up at him like a grimy mirror. The box was rectangular, a thin onyx tin frame surrounded by copper bolts to keep it closed. The top appeared to be warped inward, its latitude compromised by a slight dip where there were empty bolts that looked to originally hold a handle. Screws rested in its place. Kakashi's eyes narrowed as he poured a sudden scrutiny on its features to ensure it wasn't a henge; once confirmed he reached in and pulled it out of the hole. For a moment he was surprised at its lack of weight.

Chifumi raised her mask so it was resting on her head. "Anything pertinent?"

Pakkun sat next to Kakashi. "It's recent. The soil's been upturned within the last few days, and I can still trace several human scents on the box itself."

Kakashi nodded. "Has to be from the carriers, then. Or maybe Secretary Kurama."

Behind him, Chifumi frowned. "Why would he leave evidence behind? That's sloppy."

"Assuming that what happened is what he meant to happen, very," Kakashi agreed. The copper latches appeared to be broken, and given that it had only been buried for a few days at most, the box itself wasn't of particularly high quality. His thumbs flipped the pins upwards. "He might not have intended for this kind of bloodshed. This might have been a planted message to his. . ." He trailed off as he lifted the lid and peered inside. "Huh."

Chifumi leaned over his shoulder. ". . . Cinders?"

Within the box were chrome tatters, paper rimmed with black-ash imprints. Burnt dust. Nearly filled to the brim were unrecognizable documents that had been torched, cremated and then buried. Whatever use they might have been in the investigation was gone, as they were of no value whatsoever. Kakashi restrained himself from sighing. It was an insulting gesture. The ashes were obviously left with the intent of being discovered by them.

Pakkun leaned in over the box, sniffing. "As new as the dirt."

Kakashi said nothing for a moment before he closed the box with a metal snap.

"Well, damn."

x x x x x 

Hinata stood inside Sakura's home with her sopping umbrella tucked under her left arm, water soaking into her jacket. The contrast between homes was significant: whereas Naruto's apartment had been a decrepit hovel devoid of heat and cleanliness, Sakura's house was just the opposite. Hardwood floors winked with a waxen sheen from the lamps alight on the walls. Beautifully textured and painted kanji scrolls stretched across the wooden panels. From down the hall, Hinata could hear Sakura's parents talking lightly in cordial, familiar tones. The house embodied warmth.

"Sorry to trouble you like this. . ." Hinata said, pulling the key out of her pocket and handing it to Sakura. "I. . . really appreciate you lending this to me."

Sakura's short pink hair matted to the side of her face, sleep-lines creasing her pale skin. Hinata had obviously woken her up. "Hey, no problem. Not like I need it, right?" Sakura took the key from Hinata, staring at it for a moment with a concealed significance. When she looked up again, she had a weird smile on her face. "So. . . what'd you guys talk about?"

Hinata blinked in surprise. "Um. . . How did you. . .?"

"Heh. Ino-chan told me," Sakura explained. She pocketed the key to Naruto's apartment. "She knew something was up when we talked to Shikamaru earlier this afternoon, so she did some digging." Some of her momentary extroversion dissipated as she fixated a concerned gaze on Hinata. "You going to be okay traveling with those guys?"

Thoughts recoiled and ran over the last few hours of Hinata's life. ". . . I think so," she eventually said, her voice small and frail. "It should be fine. We all agreed to work hard and. . ."

Sakura shook her head. "Well, don't elaborate if you don't want to. It's really none of my business. At any rate, I hope you have a safe trip and everything goes okay."

"Th-Thank you very much." Hinata began to turn, her hand coming up to the handle of her umbrella, but then she stopped. She bit her lip as something gnawed at her with a psychological push. "Um. . . about Naruto-kun. . ."

"Hm?"

"His apartment. While we were there, we. . ." Hinata decided to omit what everyone had done while at his apartment. She was fairly certain Sakura wouldn't care one way or the other, but Hinata had an ingrained respect of other people's privacy so she issued discretion anyways. "It needs to be cleaned. He left a few things in his cupboards and refrigerator that will expire soon, and since he won't be home for a few years still, I thought. . . and I'm going away tomorrow, so. . ."

Sakura sighed, her eyes closing. "Jeez. What was he thinking? That moron."

Hinata swallowed. "I'm sorry."

When Sakura's eyes opened, she turned her head so they couldn't make eye contact. ". . . I have an early lunch break tomorrow after morning sessions. I'll clean everything up then."

Hinata understood completely. She smiled, bowing slightly. "Goodnight. Thank you again."

"Night," Sakura returned. She gave Hinata one last serious glance. "Take care, okay?"

Hinata nodded before turning and sliding the door open. She stepped outside before Sakura closed the door behind her. For a long moment Hinata stood there in the darkness and falling rain, protected from its deluge by the roof hanging over her head. Her umbrella closed at her side, its plastic tip touching upon the cobblestones at her feet. Like a myriad of crystal mirrors the moment returned as Hinata saw herself looking upon Sakura, recognizing the genuine concern for Naruto she tried so hard to smother.

_A kunoichi must strive to kill her emotions_.

Hinata opened the umbrella and stepped into the rain. She walked home in solitude, her free hand outstretched, catching the falling droplets in an organic cage.

x x x x x 

Given that missions were often spontaneous undertakings where speed was a necessity, shops carrying shinobi gear were open twenty-four hours a day. Though in peacetimes it was a slow drag during the graveyard shifts, it was still not a peculiar sight for someone to swoop in and scurry about buying weaponry and clothing before bolting off in the middle of the night. Such was the result of accruing an existence of stealth and murder.

Shikamaru and Temari wandered around such a store near midnight. Hanging lights buzzed a calm luminescence over glinting weapons and various clothing, a few patrons aside from the pair scanning the repertoire in a quiet comparison to their own belongings. Behind the counter a young man sat with his feet propped on a stool—Tenten's older brother, Shikamaru remembered—reading over a digest magazine.

Temari was busy with a clothing rack, analyzing a variety of jackets with an intense scrutiny.

Beside her, Shikamaru looked at the fleece he held folded over his arm. "Not to tell you what to wear or anything, but you think this is going to be enough?"

Temari looked at him. "Yeah, why not?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't seem very. . . well, you know." It was a soft flannel jacket, stitched white with internal pockets. It lacked any other colors or characteristics sans a hood that could be detached. "You're the one who made the beach comment so I figured you'd have more sense and all."

She rolled her eyes, continuing to leaf through the other coats she was considering for herself. "So. . . what're you saying? That I'm senseless? Is that what you're implying?"

"I never imply anything."

Temari shook her head. "You know, Shikamaru-kun, with that winning attitude, you must have to swing a rake around to keep all the girls off you."

Shikamaru winced internally, as if suffering from a twisted laceration. "Girls are a pain. I have better things to do with my time."

"Thanks. And I'm standing right here, too." After giving up on finding a better coat that wouldn't break her camouflage, Temari took a few steps down the aisle to where there were a variety of gloves. As she did, she muttered, "Ass."

He followed her dutifully. "Don't act like you're all hurt. We don't even know each other."

"True that. Here, hold this." She scooped up a pair of fingerless gloves that were a washed gray color that would match well with her fleece, keeping her hands warm without stunting movement for when she needed to hastily form seals. After tossing them at Shikamaru, she began to saunter slowly down the aisle with her hands behind her back, peering for anything else that would catch her interest. "Anyways. . . I'm from the desert in case you've forgotten. Ever been out in the open desert in the middle of the night? Yeah. Well, not really a place to convene, let's just say. So I'm familiar with the cold. And if I get something too heavy that'll restrict my movement capabilities."

"Uh huh," he replied, shifting slightly so the coat wouldn't press against his still rather drenched vest. "But you don't move around much."

She stopped, turning to face him with a sudden displeasure. "I'm sorry, but was that some subtle attempt at calling me fat? You'd better pray it wasn't."

Shikamaru was confounded as to how she had reached that conclusion. He sighed, exasperated. "Damn. _This_ is why I don't like girls."

A teasing grin replaced her faux-anger, and she punched his shoulder. "I was kidding. Loosen up."

He winced. Playful or not, she had quite a jab. ". . . Whatever. What I meant was that. . . I've seen you fight. You know. I've fought you and all. You don't move around much."

She turned and continued walking, turning a corner and moving towards another aisle where there was an exhausting amount of cloaks. "You might've seen me fight once or twice and you might have fought me but that still doesn't mean you have any clue what I'm capable of. Basic shinobi rules, you know. Never fully expose yourself."

He frowned, tailing her. "Then why. . ."

"Did you win?" She shrugged, acting as if the answer was obvious. "Because you outsmarted me. And because I was conserving energy."

"For the attack."

Her hands reached out to touch the thick fabric of the lengthy capes. "Yeah, something like that." The mantles billowed slightly as she moved them, hangers sliding along the metal rail with a plastic scrape. She paused as she came to a deep scarlet color, its features so darkly arid it was almost black. It would stand out against the snow, but then she knew Gaara's genjutsu capabilities were potent enough to render that hindrance into obscurity. She ran the cotton through her thumb and forefinger, enjoying its soft feel. "Hmm. . . I like this red. Think it'll go with him well? Gaara, I mean."

Shikamaru looked at her as if she were insane. "You're asking me. About clothing."

"Yeah. Is that a crime?" Temari tossed a challenging stare at him. "Or is that too girlish for your masculine mind to grasp?"

"Hilarity," he deadpanned. He looked down at the fleece and gloves in his arms, then back at the cloak she was considering. "I don't know. I don't care about stuff like that. You decide."

Temari sighed, shaking her head. "I see. Well, _I_ think it's nice. It'll do for now." She pulled the cloak from the rack, draping it over Shikamaru's outstretched arms that kept the clothing away from his body—decisively ignoring the disparaged glare he was giving her for carrying through her claim that he was going to carry her things. A metal-wire bin of scarves caught her attention. "The thing is, though, I don't really have the need to move around a lot. So I don't. Doesn't mean I can't."

Glare diminished, he shrugged. "I didn't mean it that way. It just seemed like you were handicapping yourself. I have to watch for crap like that now."

"What a chore that must be. Looking out for people other than yourself, I mean."

His upper lip curled slightly, revealing an incisor. "It is," he agreed. He took a certain degree of evil satisfaction at the surprised look she gave him. "I guess that makes me sound like an inhuman bastard, huh?"

After a moment she scoffed, attention returned to the scarves. ". . . No, not really. Just a selfish dick. And I can live with that, I guess. Not like I'm all that different, I suppose. Plus I know you're lying."

"Pff, lying? Didn't we just establish we don't even know each other? Like you can make that kind of assessment."

Temari moved around the bin to the other side so they were looking at each other, even if her attention was still on the clothing. "We might barely know each other, but we still have an idea. You get me? I saw you break down that one ti—"

"Alright, alright," he cut her off, annoyed that she seemed determined to bring that one incident up as often as possible. "I get you."

"Heh." Temari knew exactly how much it bothered him. That was exactly why she did it. "Sensitive spot? Eh, crybaby?"

"Shut up," he ordered. His arms instinctually recoiled, deciding he no longer cared if her new clothes got wet. "That was a one-time thing."

"Wow, déjà vu. That's the second time I've heard someone say that today." Temari flashed him an obnoxious smile. "You and Kankuro really have a lot in common, you know?"

Shikamaru's expression darkened. ". . . That guy's too troublesome to be like me. I barely do anything. He goes out of his way to be as big of an obstruction as he possibly can. How can that be compared?"

Temari picked up a black scarf, holding it close to her eyes; azure-points scanning the precise stitching to reveal a draconic figure in a deep violet along the hem of the fabric. "Hmm. I don't think anything would look _nice_ on him, but this sort of seems like his kind of thing." She lowered the scarf, trying to imagine what it would look like around Kankuro's neck. "The thing is. . . about Kankuro. He's the middle brother. The two of us always grew up under Gaara's shadow. We were non-entities, Kankuro especially. I was the oldest so. . ." Her fingers twisted the price tag around so she could read it. "Our Father barely even acknowledged that Kankuro existed. And after Gaara was born, what with Mom—"

Teeth pushed into her lip hard. She frowned slightly, fingers smoothing the scarf gently. That was the second time in one night she'd started to say something she knew she never wanted to. Instead of continuing she simply let her point die.

Shikamaru picked up on her sudden change. "Don't tell me something you'd regret me knowing."

"I wouldn't do that," she told him. Her face softened, thumb rubbing over the purple dragon entombed in the charcoal sea. "Hmm. I can't decide. What do you think?"

He smirked in good humor. ". . . I don't know. Does it come in Size Fat?"

Temari laughed. "It'll do."

She tossed it at his head and then moved on to see what else the store had.

x x x x x 

Hinata's life was splayed open before her.

Her room was a well-tended garden of wooden symmetry. A futon lay in the center of the room atop precisely aligned tatami mats, made with such care that it looked as if it had never once been used. Her dressing cabinet was open wide, a rectangular mirror reflecting the world back at her from within. Every article of clothing she had ever owned hung along the many racks inside: summer kimonos, funeral kimonos, winter kimonos, ninjutsu gi, fishnet vests, exercise track suits, sweatpants, woolen sweaters, rain jackets, winter coats, blue jeans and a variety of other situational wear.

A strange thing about Hinata was that she got cold very easily. Most people wouldn't assume that given her complexion, her body sculpted like an arctic siren floating above white-ice ocean swells. But ever since she had been little it took a very miniscule drop in temperature for her to detect the shift and her skin to stab-cold at her nerves. A few years ago Ino had asked her if she was going to be okay wearing such a heavy jacket in summer, but Hinata had blinked and said that she was quite comfortable. Ino just gave her an odd look and said nothing.

The idea of being gone for such an epic amount of time with essentially complete strangers was beginning to settle in her thoughts. It was a gloomy prospect in a lot of ways. She had told Shikamaru that she had no one to return to simply on the virtue that she was feeling lonely at the time because she had been thinking about Naruto. But in retrospect that was an utter lie: she still had her teammates Kiba and Shino, Kurenai-sensei, Neji, Sakura-chan and others to whom she had begun to develop legitimately honest relationships with.

At the same time, however, it was also rather exciting. The idea of setting out to a new country full of extraordinary sights and people and cultures was quite a stimulating consideration. She took it as a moment to grow. When Naruto came home in three years, she didn't want to look at him and tell him that she had slid into a static ruin; she wanted to have grown into something different and new and interesting, something that would have no fear of looking him in the eyes and saying, _This is what you helped me become_.

She was trying to decide between taking her black or white gloves when there was a knock at her door.

"Hinata."

Hinata's eyes widened, and she whirled quickly to face the door, hands immediately clutching together.

Her Father continued. "May I enter?"

Hinata swallowed. "Y-Yes!"

There was a quiet rustle as the door slid along its grooves. Hiashi stood as an icon of discipline in the entrance, Neji a few feet behind him. Hiashi took a few paces into Hinata's room, his hands linked together inside the folds of his kimono. Neji waited wordlessly in the hall.

"I've been told that you are to undertake a mission of some diplomatic importance tomorrow morning."

Hinata nodded, feeling the familiar surge of fear her Father inspired by his simple attention. "Yes. I will be traveling with some people from Wind Country under our new alliance.

"Will you be gone long?"

Her hands tightened, skin stretched across knuckles. ". . . Yes. I. . . was told that the timeframe for our return is indefinite, but. . . it will be several months at least."

Hiashi nodded, his stern countenance silent for a few moments before responding. "I see. I trust you will act as a Hyuuga should and carry the honor of our family and nation at all times."

"Yes, Father."

"Do not bring us disgrace." His eyebrows fell into a solid line across the edge of his eyes, and Hinata was worried that she had somehow upset him. However, he did not reprimand or scold her as she half-expected. Instead, he said, "Be safe."

Hinata felt tangible shock at his concern for her welfare, and she quickly bowed at the waist in gratitude. "Th-Thank you very much for your concern."

Hiashi nodded before deciding that all that needed to be said had been, and turned to leave. Neji moved aside as the clan leader made his way down the walkway towards the remainder of the Head Branch compound, but made no move to enter Hinata's room himself. Instead Hinata took a few tenuous steps towards him to bridge the gap until he was only a few feet away.

When Hinata stopped moving Neji spoke. "I wonder. . ."

Her head tilted. "Wonder?"

"How hard it must have. . ." Neji thought aloud, before shaking his head. "No. Forget I said anything." He turned himself so he was facing her fully and bowed respectfully to her. "Be safe on your mission."

Hinata returned his bow with a blush, unused to the—albeit very restrained—affection her family was giving her. "Thank you. I hope you recover completely soon."

Neji nodded and turned to leave. Before he did he stopped, a frown creasing his glassy features. "Hinata-sama."

"Um. . . yes?"

He appeared conflicted. "That day when we. . . What I said to you."

Hinata knew exactly what day he was referencing. It stood among the pinnacles of her memory as a fortitudinous pillar, often as a source of both despair and strength. A cosmic anamnesis where she could recall the endurance Naruto had instilled upon her for the very first time, self-energies flooding her mind with hope and perseverance in the face of overwhelming adversity. Only to be broken by the cynical hands of the soldier who stood before her.

Neji's voice wavered. "Everything I said. It was a lie."

Hinata didn't say anything immediately, and obviously Neji did not expect her to. He gave her a slight nod of farewell before turning and walking away from her room. A cool mist touched wetly upon her hand as she rested it against the open door—rain fragments scattering against the ground a few feet away. After a moment she slid the door closed, instilling herself back into solitude. Her head lowered until she was looking at the ground.

It was then all too much. The last few hours of her life revived in a frenzy of memories, intermingling with her other pasts: staring down the dragon of Gaara's gaze and trying so hard to erase the fear drinking at her soul; sitting on the walkway catching the rain while thinking of Naruto; overhearing Temari's concerns about what Hinata would ever be capable of contributing; becoming ensnared in a life of failures and lacking the strength to disentangle herself from herself.

And yet there were so many beautiful things. . .

It struck her with a sudden and horrible force that she was crying. Her eyes did not blink as tears rolled down her soft cheeks.

She replied even though he was gone.

". . . Thank you."

x x x x x 

By the time Kakashi entered Tsunade's office for the second occasion that evening, she was already on her third bottle of saké. She gave off no discerning characteristics of inebriation aside from a slight blush at the tip of her nose. The room was aglow with a flickering twilight, candles atop her desk providing the sole illumination. Stacks of open files, scrolls and other documents cast serrated shadows in the orange blackness. At first Tsunade made no movement to acknowledge that Kakashi was standing in front of her desk at attention, ostensibly focusing her wavering mind on the saucer in her hands.

Her vision throbbed. She ignored the onset of a headache and drained the rice-wine quickly, finally turning. "That sure took you a while. It's late. I hope you didn't keep me waiting on some frivolous whim."

"Ah," he replied simply. "My apologies."

Tsunade's eyebrow twitched. "Well. . . out with it. Did your personal investigation turn up any new information?"

He shook his head, mask concealing all possible emotion. "Nothing solid. Everything would just be hypothetical. The attack site has been trashed thanks to the weather and I'm not really an impact reconstitutionist anyways. Whomever or whatever hit the carriage hit it hard and got whatever it is they were after. There was no sign of any real struggle. Like you said."

"Fantastic," she drawled, forcibly extricating the slur from her voice. Her fingers began to reach for the bottle that still had any liquor left in it. "I guess then you'd better head off home and get some sleep. Shikamaru's team is on the move tomorrow morning and you'll need to tail them for the first few days."

Kakashi nodded, but said, "If I may, Hokage-sama, there was one other thing."

She stifled a yawn. "Go ahead."

"We found a box."

Tsunade frowned, hand holding the saké bottle stalled in mid-air. "Found a. . . I thought you just said that there was no new information?"

"There isn't," Kakashi agreed. Everything from his voice to his stance all the way to his lazy unconcealed eye hid any lenience he might've gestured. "That's all it is. Just a box that happened to be buried about three hundred meters from the attack site on the same day."

Tsunade looked at him as if he were a fool. "You have to be kidding me if you think that's a _coincidence_."

"I don't. It's obviously connected. But it doesn't provide any new information because all of the contents of the box have been incinerated."

"Oh, hell." Tsunade scoffed, a thick throaty noise, before pushing the base of her palm between her eyes. "I'll bet I know what was in that box, too."

Kakashi nodded, understanding her implication. "It's downstairs and a few ANBU are looking over it right now. My guess is that it's definitely the stolen documents. It would coincide with Kurama's bizarre objectives, assuming the men he was backing were just patsies."

Tsunade's hand fell, and she looked blankly at a dancing candle atop her desk. "I still think he's a patsy himself. He has to know we suspect him." Her eye twitched a second time with a frown. "Damn, what an annoyance. Are you sure there's nothing salvageable?"

"Yes. Everything inside was destroyed."

A fingernail tapped against lacquered wood. ". . . Gah. Well. . . nothing we can do about it now. Without any actual new information we're still shooting in the dark." Tsunade swirled the bottle in her hand back and forth and with a shrug drained its miniscule contents with one swift tilt. She placed the empty porcelain down with a sigh. "Anyways. If that's all, I guess it's time for us to pass out. Today can't be over soon enough."

Kakashi nodded, hands sliding into his pockets. "I will see you in the morning, then."

Before he could turn, Tsunade remembered something. "Hold on a sec."

The eyebrow concealed by his forehead protector rose. "Hm?"

Tsunade sniffled, starting to pile papers into their respective dossiers. "You know, in a few months, the Chuunin Exams are coming around again. They're being held in Mist this year. . . they're already getting pretty worked up about it since the disaster last year. They really want all the other four nations to participate. I've already gotten five letters about trying to convince Konoha Genins to sign up. Their enthusiasm is kind of annoying."

". . . Ah."

Tsunade watched his response with a type of curious bemusement. "I'm telling you this because your team has been more or less disbanded for the time being, given the strange. . . circumstances. I've been in talking with the other Jonin instructors and there aren't a lot of Genin who are going to be entering this exam. Gai informed me his team will be attending, and I think Kurenai's team is interested. . . although since Hinata is going on this mission they might not be able to do that." Tsunade ceased her rummaging, eventually turning to stare at his face. "I was wondering what you'd think about me reassigning Sakura-chan to Team Eight for a little while. Not permanently, but just until the exams are over. It would be best that if she participates with Kiba and Shino that the three of them begin training together sooner rather than later."

Kakashi gave no physical display of concern. "If that's your decision."

"I wanted your opinion," Tsunade told him, knowing that it was his routine to cast veils over everything external. "Or do you not have one?"

With a quiet sigh, Kakashi's fingers scratched his messy hair as he gave her request actual consideration. ". . . I suppose I do. It would be good for her. Seeing her function with a different group might reveal some of her squandered potential. . . she has the capability of passing."

Tsunade nodded, agreeing with his assessment. "Okay. Thanks. Go get some sleep. You're dismissed."

Kakashi nodded, sauntering out of her room with a slight limp. He had broken his leg earlier in the day returning from a three-day mission and Tsunade had tended to it personally, mended the shattered bone with restorative chakra strings. He'd be unable to utilize the appendage to his full capabilities for only a few days as the lingering bruises receded. In some ways Tsunade both admired and disliked the way he had willingly accepted the assignment she had given him while she had been resetting the joint.

His blank expression had reminded her very much of one of his two absent pupils.

Tsunade couldn't hate him for his favoritism. He was only human, even though he was very adept at slaying external traces of such so it was easy to forget that sometimes. And it would be hypocritical of her to cast that kind of judgment on him. Time also played a factor in that dire regard: she hadn't been given much time for Sasuke to be endeared to her before he fled to Orochimaru.

She sat in her chair for a moment, on the threshold of standing and leaving for the night. Instead, she opened the lower drawer of her desk with a sigh, retriving a forth bottle of saké. They were very small bottles and she had a very high level of alcohol tolerance. Those facts did nothing to assuage her.

"Sarutobi-sensei never drank alone. . ."

Windows rattled with distant thunder. She began to pour herself another cup, free hand reaching absently for a necklace that was no longer there.

x x x x x 

The Gates of Konoha had bore witness to innumerable transitory partings. So had it a sentience to give it vision and mind, it would have thought nothing of the five teenagers who met one crisp late-morning before its massive presence. Packs swollen with warm clothing, additional weaponry and other necessities adorning their backs, their forms were that of every other ninja to leave the sanctity of Leaf. Sunlit dew scattered in an emerald bath.

After a short conversation between the kids they nodded. A shy girl turned to look back at the Gates as if whispering a silent farewell, looking deeply into a universe of stopped time. An older girl nudged the shy girl with a smile, and then the small group leapt into the trees. The forest around them became the vehicle of their togetherness, noonday sun melting estrangement through the cool air. The Gates watched as they were swallowed into the infinite green. Then they were gone; leaving the fortress of memories behind as the wind stretched down in an urgent caress, swaying through the trees, rolling across the land as it had hundreds of years before. 


	4. The Pariah Climb

**Of Remnants  
—four—  
'The Pariah Climb' **

_"Everything I fear is in this failing,  
Nothing of what I am is in this end."_  
-- "My Negation," Dark Tranquillity

Three days after leaving Konoha, Hinata stood at the edge of a wooden pier in a small village along the perimeter of Earth Country. Water, air and light swam beneath the boards, glistening with a serrated sheen below. Her bare feet supported her poised form, stance lithe and fortified, her body bent at the joints to allow fluid adaptation to her whims. Hands spread flat held in front of her, giving defensive ordnance to her small frame. A paper origami made of iron body-hammers. Shallow, colorless eyes forked pronounced veins under the surface of her skin, Byakugan activated to supplement her martial stance.

And nothing moved.

Violet ribbons smeared across the sky. Sunlight began to slowly surface across the Western horizon, pushing over the mountains like a drowning solar pyre-fly surfacing to gasp light-waves. Red and blue intermingled, atmospheric energies shifting underneath the burning clouds. A faint mist lingered through the still air, casting a wetly thin veil over the small dock overlapping the river. Dark water moved in soft waves, filling Hinata's ears with the sound of fishing boats tapping against the piers that restrained them gently. Muddy sand covered the opposite bank in darkness.

Hinata's eyes narrowed. Sweat traced a cool line down the back of her neck.

_Attack. _

And everything moved.

Motion swept Hinata into a controlled flurry; cognitive information swarmed her thoughts of devastation, feeding into a carnal machinery bred on repetition. Her hands began to piston forward in a strange and elegant frenzy, feet shifting across the smooth boards to guide her movements with a powerful balance. As her plunging strikes fired forward, her mind drifted to a levitating ground: a state of nothingness, empty rooms without purpose or passion. Severing herself from the swell of emotive tendencies the human mind perpetuated she could move without hesitation or restraint, one of the very first lessons of taijutsu. Though it was a flawed sphere, imperfect as she was an intrinsically emotive person: thus, in the swirling oblivion of those void-chambers, she began to visualize her target.

The toughened skin at the bottom of her feet slid across wood with a thin scrape. Hinata executed a twirl, sweeping down to her knees in a low attack. All the while the omnidirectional monochrome world sweltered around her like a frigid marble courtyard of rain.

She could see them. All of them.

A secondary circulatory system overlapping a human body, pulsing blue with innate energies. Her mind focused intensely upon her imagined opponent's chakra system, eyes drugged into the acropolis of vision zeroing on the miniature flares that represented the vital points. Her gentle hands began to smash across the glow-points of the astral human map, chakra signals terminated like disintegrating suns. Her hands did not destroy a man so much as turn him off—powering down molecular machinery, alleviating the pressure of substantiation; a hollowed human hanger-bay carved free of its sleeping weaponry.

As Hinata's inertia began to foam into a sea-wave of adrenaline, speed hastening as if rushed to a vitriolic flashpoint, her imaginary target began to do the opposite. As his chakra flow began to unravel, surging within the confines of a sealed system, his body began to change. Hinata knew this because she had seen the effects many times before. Chakra that was once crystalline cerulean, an oasis flowing through human splendor began to rot and throb like disease conduits, ethereal sewage flourishing in a putrid network of ruin. Silver tracery weaving organic warrens through spiritual flesh, pulsing across her sky-eyes that had been pried open like steel-bath portals. . .

Then her right hand cudgeled forward, crushing the nonexistent solar plexus in a mortal blow. Invisible ribs cracked. Fictitious lungs collapsed.

Her Father's voice punctured her vacuum like a spinning asteroid:

_To see within nothing is to visualize everything. _

The silver world faded as Hinata deactivated her Byakugan, vision once again restricted to the colorful abstraction immediately in front of her. She maintained her stance with her right hand extended for a long moment, breathing heavily. Further trails of sweat ran from her dark hair down underneath her hooded jacket, some soaking into the soft fabric of her forehead protector around her neck. Hinata stood like that for over a minute simply allowing her breathing to stabilize, rejuvenating via the scent of the early morning wafting into her senses. Eventually she allowed her body to relax, hands falling to her sides.

After a moment, she looked up into the misty sky where encroaching sunlight was erasing the stars.

_How was that, Naruto-kun? _

It was absurd, Hinata knew, to imagine herself being observed by Naruto as if he had transcended physical form into some supernatural guardian force. But there was comfort derived from that very audacity: her memories of her admiration for him gave her life momentum, every action drawn back into the arms of stored-time to be measured against what he might consider to be impressive. He watched her from inside her mind's embrace, her memory of him inked into the canvas of her thoughts like primal and ancient cave paintings. A shifting chameleon guide that warped to the colors of her every moment.

Movement from down the river caught Hinata's senses. Moving amid the shades of falling dawn was a small fishing boat pushing away from one of the other piers at the quaint docking yard. Three young men were shouting at each other in the quiet stillness, their voices drifting over to Hinata with a muffled echo. She watched with a guarded curiosity as they unwound the rope keeping the boat nestled against the dock, pushing the floating vehicle onto the smooth stretch of glassy water separating the two banks.

As the fishermen began to make their journey further upstream, Hinata acknowledged the flush of dissolving adrenaline still shooting underneath her skin in red waves. Wiping her forehead she sat down at the edge of the pier, her bare feet hanging over the side, toes dipping into the cool water. She winced briefly at the sudden chill-blast across her skin, her soft breathing filling her ears.

A cluster of glows infiltrated the sky. The surface of the sun split the clouds.

_. . . Beautiful. _

Hinata was so entranced by the sight of the rising sun she didn't even detect the movement behind her.

"So was that the infamous Gentle Fist? Pretty impressive."

Hinata's head spun around with a gasp. "Oh! Temari-san. . . how long have you. . ."

Temari stood there before Hinata along the pier, hands on her hips, refracted sunrise smothering her form in colorful shadows as if she were draped in the petals of a bleeding flower. She looked rather sleepy. "What, been watching? Dunno. Five minutes?" She moved over beside Hinata and sat down. After some rummaging she pulled her sandals off and lay them beside her, hissing slightly as she put her feet in the river-water. "I woke up and noticed you'd already left the room so I went looking in case you'd wandered off and gotten in trouble or something. Guess that was a waste of time. Kind of a reflex habit traveling with my brothers."

Hinata was rather embarrassed; for Temari's concern and for not even noticing she had been there. "Sorry to trouble you."

Temari shook her head. "It's not. Seriously though, that was very elegant. Your form is very fluid. More so than when I saw you fight at the preliminaries."

A slight bow of her head masked Hinata's nervous blush. "Th-Thank you."

"I guess it must've been tough to fight your relative like that, though," Temari commented off-handedly. Her feet began to trace circles in the cool water. "That kind of sucked."

It took Hinata a few moments to process a response to that understatement. Fighting Neji had easily ranked as one of the most terrible moments of her life, saved from the ultimatum by Naruto's positive influence. She bit her lip momentarily, looking away to the clouds. "It. . . I didn't. . . it was okay. It was a challenge, but. . ."

Temari obviously caught on that it was a sensitive topic for Hinata, so she rerouted the discussion. "So your techniques close off the chakra valves, right? That's kind of cool. I hear that when your chakra is dismantled like that it's almost the equivalent of being suffocated. That's really deadly." Temari's eyes fell to her legs, skin rising with goose-bumps from the cold water. "I guess when I think of things that way I can kind of understand why he picked you."

Hinata looked at her. "What do you mean? Shikamaru-kun?"

"Yeah," Temari confirmed. Hinata was slightly surprised to see that Temari appeared rather conflicted, as she wouldn't meet Hinata's gaze. They had only known each other for a very short amount of time, but anxiety was an almost entirely contrary thing for Hinata to associate with the female Sand-nin. Eventually, still looking down at the water, Temari spoke again. "You know, the other day when I said that. I guess I was out of line."

Connective memory wires merged in Hinata's thoughts, the sadness of overhearing a stranger's disapproval over her inclusion momentarily reviving. Hinata watched the calm ripples of the water surface. ". . . No, it's. . . it's okay. You had the right to say that. I understand."

Temari shrugged. "Even still. I do kinda feel bad about it. It was pretty lame of me to say that like you wouldn't have been able to overhear. Kankuro was right. I _did_ patronize you."

Hinata took a breath. "But what you said. . . it makes sense. I. . . can see why you made that objection." An old habit that Hinata loathed took control, her index fingers pressing together in her lap. "I was surprised too. . . there are so many better shinobi than. . . I don't know why he decided on me."

"What, really?" Temari turned to Hinata inquisitively. "He didn't say?"

"Well. . . he did, but. . ."

Temari looked away at the sunrise, this time with the ghost of a smile. "It's pretty obvious, actually. After being on the road for a few days. He was pretty smart to pick you."

Hinata had assumed that Shikamaru had only taken her along because Shino and Kiba weren't available at the time and Neji was still recuperating. Her observations of the Siblings of the Sand indicated they had monumental offensive capabilities, but not a particular emphasis on stealth and perception. When she thought of the situation like that, it made perfect sense. Her own sense of inadequacy disallowed her to believe the rest of Shikamaru's explanation, as she thought he was simply trying to be nice. To challenge that perception was to warp reality with psychological tremors, truth clad in self-deceiving screens.

Hinata eventually spoke in a small voice. "Why is that?"

"Because of Kankuro and Gaara," Temari replied. After a sudden twitch of her leg in the water, kicking a fresh spray of droplets across the rippling black, Temari elicited a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "Alright, and me, too. Let's face it. Things could have gone south really fast with a bad combination here. But you're a mediator, you know? You don't look for conflict, you sort of. . . I don't know, find a way to _avoid_ conflict. You're a pacifying element. Seriously. I shudder to think what this mission would be like if he'd picked someone like Kankuro who'd be vocal about everything. We would've fallen to pieces on the first day."

"I see. I never. . . thought of it like that," Hinata admitted. A sense of ease and comfort enveloped her. "I don't think of myself that way."

"Well, whatever. Too late to fuss over it now anyways. We're already out here so might as well live with what we've got."

Hinata nodded. "Yes," she agreed. After a calm series of minutes, light-ink seeping through the sky as the sun made itself completely known, Hinata returned her thoughts to her body. Her adrenaline had completely subsided and she was feeling abnormally confident in herself. Temari's thoughts had bolstered her self-esteem as she considered that, just maybe, Shikamaru hadn't been trying to be nice. That, just maybe, he had been telling the truth.

For one briefly wonderful moment, Hinata felt _necessary_.

Her mind was eager to renew its training under this strengthened fortitude. "Um, is there anything that you needed me for?"

Temari caught on. "No, not really. Sorry for interrupting your routine. I'll let you get back to your workout." She stood, her damp feet pooling water across the dry pier. She looked down at Hinata, her eyes alight with a new idea. "Hey, meet back up with me in an hour and we'll go for breakfast or something. Kankuro'll be asleep for a few more hours, probably. Want to do that?"

Hinata stood, smiling. "Okay. I'd like that."

"See you in an hour then, Hinata-chan."

Temari pulled her sandals back on before waving, then making her way slowly back into the awakening village. In a short amount of time the pier would be bustling with fishermen like the three previous who embarked on their daily routines. Hinata took a long moment to close her eyes and breathe in the mist, purity rushing through her system. Then her eyelids opened, Byakugan reactivated as she dropped into her fighting stance, her self-training beginning anew.

x x x x x 

A thin cloud cover lingered across the riverside village much like condensed water on a window. Fractured gray spilled through, colorless light giving a dampened luminance to the bustling village. Shoeless men ran through the streets with wooden carts, fish piled into the boxed cages. Vessels guided by hand carrying barrels of rice, saké, crushed fish innards, seaweed, butter and other assorted foodstuff weaved a twisted maze of movement across the cobblestone streets. Women gathered around various shops and ogled at various wares or simply chatted.

Shikamaru hated every second of it.

It was a forced pleasantry. Rigid activity bred ambition, and like all societies a routine was established. While in a lot of ways Shikamaru envied the _idea_ of living in a village where the most pressing matters were carving a natural path of survival in the hunter/gatherer sense, the effects created a pattern. People would talk to one another because they had nothing better to do. Not because they wanted to. Shikamaru watched the clouds for the clouds.

Beside him, as the two of them mingled with the locals by walking casually through the market, Gaara embodied disconnection. His face gave no indication of leaning to one emotion or another. After spending the last three days with him, Shikamaru was coming to learn that was simply how Gaara was with everything.

After skillfully twisting to avoid a young boy careening his cart of rice-wine towards his leg, Shikamaru frowned. "This is getting us nowhere. Sometimes I have to wonder if the people in these hick fringe villages are willingly ignorant."

"They have no real need to be observant," Gaara replied. His sterile gaze drank the village with an empty thirst. "They're separate from the conflicts of the Hidden Villages, so there's no point for them to be involved."

Shikamaru scratched the top of his head as the two of them stopped walking, taking a moment to look back over the street they'd traversed. "It's not like I can't understand their blind-eye mentality, but you'd think that if a small crew of people like us wandered through your little fishing hovel, you'd sit up and take notice." After a full morning of talking to every shopkeeper the two of them had come across with no information regarding any kind of shinobi activity in the last few weeks, Shikamaru was slightly fed up. "Silence makes everything difficult."

"They might have been threatened."

"Probably," Shikamaru agreed. "Why else would they be tight-lipped about fingering travelers?" Shikamaru had come to discover that while Gaara didn't make for a great conversationalist, he found wandering around with him was rather enjoyable: Gaara did almost nothing to annoy Shikamaru ever, and the two of them thought strategically along similar wavelengths quite often. It made coordination a simplistic endeavor. "The more I stay in a place like this, the more I start to think that evolution is a blindfolded process. All these people. . . Jeez. Seems kind of unfair they were fortunate enough to have these lives."

Gaara watched as a young girl ran off, chasing a boy of about the same age who had stolen her doll. A henge hid his gourd from plain sight, transforming it into a small backpack. Even without it Gaara's appearance was anomalous, so it became routine to conceal its existence when in villages not accustomed to ninja presence. ". . . All that's left now are the people at the sluice gate. Unless you want to interrogate every establishment all over again."

Shikamaru scoffed. The idea of speaking to more surly fishermen that had fewer teeth than fingers wasn't particularly appealing. "Screw that. Might as well leave the rest of the footwork up to our benefactor. I'd rather just head out after lunch and keep moving." He paused in thought for a moment. "Let's go buy some fish."

"For?"

"Eating? Might as well make the best of a bad situation," he decided, eyes roaming over the street to calculate the quickest way to navigate themselves to the fish market. "I don't want to walk away from wandering around this hole all morning with nothing."

"Fine," Gaara said, following Shikamaru as they walked further into the late-morning human chaos.

x x x x x 

Kankuro was fully aware of the bizarre and hostile atmosphere his very appearance suggested. When outside of comfortable and familiar company, he deigned it necessary—rules had been outlined for himself as a means of survival, and one rule he had learned very quickly was that there were very few people in the world he could willingly trust. Dark clothing and fractal war-paint were merely means to that end. All the times he would feel angry, lost, helpless, deceived or homesick he could disguise himself behind the shifting violet mask his fingers slashed across his face every morning. Trust was a weakness.

There were only two people in the world to which he allowed himself that frailty.

However, paranoia wasn't the sole typifying parameter of a shinobi. Utilizing discretion over one's emotions to control the visceral state of those around you was one such factor that often encouraged trust, even were it to be fake. Wearing the clothing of a fraudulent existence was a necessity sometimes, as kindness and congeniality were often far more deadly than poison if used correctly.

Under that motif alone did Kankuro sit at the bar of a sushi restaurant, his hood pooled around his neck and his face completely bare of any marking. His short brown hair was a mess of tangled ends as he never saw a reason to style them, given that he seldom had them exposed. His face was rather sharp and handsome underneath everything, particularly when he was smiling as if he meant it.

And he really did.

He chewed thoughtfully, poking the fleshy pink of the salmon before him with lacquered chopsticks. "Hey, Old Man, this is incredible."

Behind the bar an elderly gentleman smiled. "Why thank you very much, kind sir. It's awfully nice of you to humor me like that."

Kankuro tilted his head back as he emptied his small saucer of warm saké down his throat, his skin buzzing from the alcohol. Around the two of them villagers sat and chatted amongst each other, but the old man paid them no mind. His staff tended to their needs as he focused his attention on Kankuro exclusively. Kankuro let out a breath of content. "No, I'm dead serious. This is. . . well, I'm not a food expert, so. . ." He scratched behind his ear with his thumb's fingernail. "It's really good. Believe me. This is the best fish I've had in months. No lie."

This wasn't Kankuro's first visit to that particular restaurant. Months ago, just after Gaara had begun to change, Kankuro got into a fight with Temari. Like all of their fights it began as collision of egos but it eventually devolved into a physical match where Temari had soundly beaten Kankuro. Never having been a particularly good loser, Kankuro had left in a bruised and enraged stupor, cursing his sister to damnation. He wound up wandering around strange and quiet places where he could be separated from all things Temari and Gaara, cutting a lateral path through Wind and into Fire, then north through Earth. A scroll of puppetry jutsu kept him company and gave his three-week flight some meaning and purpose so it wasn't simply squandered time.

He had stayed in many small villages in his aimless pilgrimage, the one they were visiting at the moment being one of them. He had been surprised when the old man had remembered him from before. Kankuro wasn't usually a very memorable person, in spite of his rather external personality. Where Gaara and Temari often stirred fear, awe or respect in others, Kankuro generally inspired indifference. It was an uncomfortable fact.

The old man scratched his unshaven chin. "I'm glad you think so! Would you like a refill of your saké?"

Kankuro chuckled at the thought of what Temari would say if she knew he had been drinking. "You know, I'm still only fifteen. . ."

"Bah, I won't tell if you won't," the old man said with a wink.

Kankuro grinned. "Well now, how could I say no to that?" He held out his cup as the owner tilted the tiny porcelain bottle slightly, the shimmering translucent liquid pooling in his saucer. Filaments of steam twirled in between. "Much appreciated. I guess it's kind of sad that I've already built up quite a resistance to this and I still have another year before I'm even actually of age. Guess that says something about the company I keep, huh?"

A knowing look passed over the man's features. He remembered Kankuro well simply because the old man had been so much like him when he was younger. "Do I need to worry about you, Kankuro? What are you doing with yourself?"

Kankuro shrugged. "Just running around the wilderness with a bunch of weirdoes. My big Sis has been throwing alcohol back since she was fourteen so I was kind of forced into it. She's like a full-time job sometimes, y'know?" His chopsticks captured a stringy chunk of salmon, lifting the meat and then letting it rest gently against his tongue. He let out a pleasurable sigh through his nose as he chewed. "Mmm. . . really, this is great. I wish I'd get the chance to come here again soon. Road travel sucks in some ways."

"That's too bad," the old man said honestly. He placed his hand against his chin in contemplation. "I have a daughter named Yoshino about your age I'd love to introduce you to. She's a ninja like you, you know. I've been kind of hoping she'd at least set her roots in somewhere. . . comes and goes all the time. Being of that life yourself, I figure you'd be able to understand her. You know what I mean?"

"Oh really?" Kankuro chuckled lightly, then swallowing. "Hmm, if she cooks anything like you, I might just have to swing by town on my way back."

A genuine laugh shook the old man. "That'd be great! She's got kind of a rough attitude, but I like you well enough. She probably would too."

"You know. . . Ever since my Sis turned sixteen, people have been trying like crazy to set her up. She's of lineage and all. . . we all are, the three of us, so. . . yeah. Really bugs her. Like, _really_ bugs her. All these candidates and marriage meetings and stuff drives her crazy." He paused as he really thought about all the interesting discussions that had arisen from those meetings. An almost mischievous glint shifted across his eyes. "It's hilarious. A few months ago she came storming into my room screaming about how being an adult at sixteen is trash, why can't it be like out West where it's eighteen, blah blah blah. . . and how if she saw one more suitor she'd wind up snapping and murdering the whole town."

"Sounds like my own Sister. Likes to do things are her own pace, eh?"

Kankuro nodded. "You said it. She makes no sense half of the time. She'll do something that she thinks is wrong just to avoid siding with me. You know what I mean?" As the old man nodded in perfect understanding, Kankuro finished off the rest of his lunch and downed his saké in one tilt. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he said, "Hey, thanks for all this. It was great. Best meal I've had in a long time."

"Absolutely," the old man said with conviction, giving Kankuro a respectful glance. "I was serious about coming back, you know. When you get some time, stop on by. I'll try to flag down my nomad of a daughter for you."

"Heh, sounds great." Kankuro stood, movement causing his hair to rustle slightly. It was an odd sensation since he spent so much time with it covered. He dusted his hands off and was about to turn when he decided to employ his strategy. He wasn't very skilled at blending in so he was a bit tenuous whether or not it would come to fruition, but he wasn't about to be accused of being the only team member not doing any work. He spoke casually. "Oh yeah, I forgot. I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Of course, ask away."

Kankuro's imagination quickly salvaged a makeshift story to weave from the odds and ends cluttering his mind. "Our group is trying to hook up with another group but the runner unit got cut-off back in Fire Country, so we're trying to catch up to them ourselves. We think they came through here, but we're not sure. Did you see any other shinobi around lately? They probably wouldn't have been wearing their forehead protectors so it's cool if you missed them or whatever."

The old man stood back slightly as he gave the inquiry some thought. "Hmm. . . well, we don't get a lot of shinobi activity here. A lot of the villagers' children who were interested like Yoshino in becoming ninja would move out to Hidden Stone instead of commuting. I was never a nin myself, so I'm not sure really what to look for."

_Oh well. I tried. This part isn't exactly my forte. _

"Ah," he replied, shrugging. He offered the man a friendly smile. "Well, no worries anyways."

As Kankuro began to turn, the old man's face brightened. "Oh, wait! That's not true. I think I did see a few pass through here sometime yesterday."

"No kidding," Kankuro said, eyebrows raised. He hadn't actually been _expecting_ success. "Are you sure they were shinobi?"

"Pretty sure. . . most traffic we get through here is commercial," the old man explained, eyes narrowing in deep thought. He stood there for a moment, impervious to the throng of customers and staff shifting around him. "You know, carriages full of food and timber and whatnot? The other day when I sent Huan to buy some fresh trout from the market I found he'd slept in and was running late. So I had to go do it myself, right? While I was outside I saw a small bunch of guys who looked the part of a shinobi. I didn't speak to them myself since they didn't look like they were after trouble or anything."

_Sweet_, Kankuro thought. _Who would have imagined? Let's see you scoff _this_ off, Temari. _

"That's great," Kankuro said, though his voice was calm it carried a genuine honesty. "What did they look like? We don't have any profiles to run off of right now since our runner was the only one who'd met with them in person."

A call from the backroom caused the old man to turn, pulling the deep blue flaps hanging over the door back and yell into the kitchen. After a brief exchange of shouts between employees the old man returned his attention to Kankuro as if nothing had happened. "Hmm. . . they wore dark blue ninja suits, the four of them. Black gloves, straw hats. . . hmm. I recognized their weapon pouches which was how I figured they were ninja. They seemed harmless enough so I didn't really remember much about it until you mentioned them. Thought they were just in town visiting their parents or something."

Kankuro hid his disappointment at the finite nature of the information well. "Ah, so you wouldn't know where they would've headed out to."

"Sorry. Best I can give you. Though now that I think on it, they did seem kind of strange."

"How's that?"

The old man scratched a gray-white eyebrow. "I'm not sure. I didn't get a good look at them because they didn't look like they were out for blood and I was in a rush, but. . . I don't know. Maybe they were just drunk." He shrugged, broad shoulders rolling the ragged fabric of his apron. "It was pretty early in the morning. They might have been stumbling home from the watering hole, you know? That's about all I've got on them. Sorry Kankuro."

Kankuro shook his head. "It's fine, that's great. At least we'll have _something_ of an idea of what to look for now. Beats running completely blind." Not being the type to bow, Kankuro offered a smile that wasn't fake instead. "Thanks again, Old Man. I owe you one."

"On your tab!" A grizzled grin stretched across wrinkling features. "Come back soon, okay?"

Kankuro nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

Deciding to then grace his employees with his undivided attention, the friendly old codger turned and made his way into the kitchen, the sound of his shouting voice soon spilling into the din of conversation. Kankuro stood next to the stool where he'd sat, scratching his head for a moment in thought. Eventually he came to the conclusion that the information was too vague to really piece together any kind of substantial plan from, and left the establishment. Groggy sunlight met him with a strangled glow as he stepped outside. The market before him was a scattered microcosm of movement, discordant noises surrounding a human blur.

_Small towns are weird,_ Kankuro decided. _Especially riverside villages. It's like an ant colony during the day. How could anyone get any peace and quiet? _

Giving the notion of wandering around by himself some more a once over in his thoughts, Kankuro decided to just make his way back to the Inn the group was staying at. They were going to reconvene and head upstream in a few hours already anyways, and he doubted there would be any new information that he could shake out of any of the villagers. Unless the mysterious ambushers suddenly decided to get sloppy, the likelihood of their whereabouts being discovered by simple fishing folk was slim to nil.

Dissolving into a crowd when he wasn't carrying Karasu and Kuroari or wearing his jagged face-paint was a simple task. Kankuro's hands found his pockets and he made his way slowly down the street, keeping to himself. If he'd truly been in a hurry he could've leapt across the rooftops, but he was actually enjoying the solitude while it lasted. The more time spent away from Temari and Shikamaru the better. Temari had always been something of a tourniquet of blades to Kankuro: she made him angrier than anyone else he knew on almost a routine basis, but at the same time she was the sole person that kept him afloat in a flood of loneliness. With Gaara being a sociopathic tyrant, Temari was really all Kankuro had in their earlier years.

In the case of Shikamaru. . .

Kankuro frowned. He didn't like their lazy, apathetic leader. He doubted he ever would. He had made an effort to restrain his discontent for the sake of mission stability, but it wasn't easy. Almost everything the young Chuunin said rubbed Kankuro raw. He was a lot like Temari that way—only without the benefit of past solace.

A sudden flash of yellow caught Kankuro's attention as he ducked under a hanging awning canvassing a storefront. He peered across the crowded street, recognized the movement, then sighed.

_Well now. Speak of the devil. _

Waiting for a moment to watch the street as various carts scissored in both directions, Kankuro found himself weaving through the mass. His movements were skilled and precise, although coated with a kind of guarded lethargy. He was in no hurry, but contact was inevitable. After ducking under a large canoe that two men were carrying over their heads, Kankuro stood in front of an open fish market. Villagers crowded around the various displays, shouts from the bowels of the store muffled by thin wooden walls as trays of fresh fish were coming in packaged streams through the rear entrance.

Standing before him with their backs to him were Temari and Hinata. The girls were scrutinizing a display of gutted fish as they lay deceased upon a bed of crushed ice, rolled underneath like soft crystal marbles. Hinata was talking softly while pointing at various features of the spliced aquatics, and Temari was nodding while listening to Hinata seriously. It still kind of unnerved Kankuro how quickly those two had gotten along. Not that he really had anything against Hinata personally, but they seemed to become fast friends. Temari didn't make friends quickly. Ever.

"Hey," Kankuro forced himself to say. He walked up behind them. "Good to see you guys are working hard at flushing the targets out. Planning a pincer attack on the fish-cart?"

When the two of them turned to face him, Kankuro had to slay the groan that pushed against his throat when Hinata looked at him in open shock. It was an irritatingly reserved look, much like a cat would greet its owner as they walked in the door covered in mud with a tilt of its head. Hinata's eyes unnerved Kankuro. Icy spheres devoid of pupils, they made her pale face look like the features of a living doll—one he did not have control over, that moved and spoke with a ghostly animation of its own accord. A fragile possession of dead features.

Hinata moved to speak, but stopped herself. She caught her stare, looking away in embarrassment.

Kankuro sighed. "What is it?"

Hinata swallowed, eyes darting to catch glimpses of his face before retreating. "Y-Your. . . your face. It's. . ."

Temari couldn't help but laugh. "Don't feel too bad, Kankuro. She's just shocked you're really that hideous underneath all that paint. Can you blame her?"

His teeth ground together, fingers bunching in his pockets. "Shut the hell up. At least I have the sense to mask myself, unlike _you_. Some camouflage artist you are."

"I don't need camouflage," Temari told him, her voice dripping with condescendence, "because _I_ don't play with dolls."

Kankuro's eye twitched.

Hinata tried to diffuse the situation. "It's not. . . you aren't. . ."

After she trailed off, Kankuro looked at her pointedly. "What?"

"You look. . . fine," she said shyly. "You aren't hideous."

He should have felt flattered, but in reality he didn't. He really didn't care what he looked like, or what she thought of how he looked. He gave an indifferent shrug. "Well, thanks, but I don't need your assurance. I don't believe anything she tells me anyways. Everything that comes out of her mouth is a lie or an exaggeration."

"You prick," Temari intervened, giving him a flippant look as if baiting him for a verbal joust. "And just when I had been telling Hinata-chan all these nice things about you, too. Way to blow your chances at me ever doing that again."

"Psh, that's a lie and you know it. You weren't telling her anything nice about me."

"Well. . . alright, so I wasn't," she admitted. Her eyes widened as she shrugged, demeanor unblemished by his observation. "But I could have been! And if I were, you would have blown it!"

Hinata moved out of the way so an elderly lady could examine the fish with a polite smile. She turned back to the siblings, speaking in soft tones that only they would hear. "We were just considering buying some fish for the road. Since it will be a few more days before we're in a riverside town again and it would. . . be nice to have fish that was really fresh."

Temari nodded. "Yeah, how about that, huh? Hinata-chan is quite the cook, apparently." She poked Kankuro in the chest with her index finger. "So don't act like we weren't thinking in the interests of the team, buddy. You'll be thanking us when we're eating something wholesome and delicious instead of pinecones and berries."

Kankuro sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Well, fine." He began to look around them at the crowd. "Any word from Gaara and Captain Apathy about anything? I haven't seen them all morning."

"Nope. They took off to ask around before me and Hinata-chan got back from breakfast."

Briefly, Kankuro wondered whether or not their search had yielded any results. In a way, he hoped that they wound up with nothing, a sinister gleam shining in his thoughts as he imagined telling Shikamaru how he'd managed to pull together some information by a total fluke while their leader had come up with nothing. But then again, Kankuro had to begrudgingly admit that both Shikamaru and Gaara working together made for a pretty good network of investigation: Shikamaru had a way of talking that was very casual and laidback, while Gaara could cut a ruthless atmosphere if necessary.

Hinata brushed a strand of her sunken blue hair over her right ear. "Some of the people have spoken to them. . . they recognized us as their traveling companions."

Temari nodded, her arms crossed. "It's not a big village, so they're bound to turn up sooner rather than later."

"At any rate," Kankuro began, trying to avoid breaking the next cart that almost crashed into his ankles, "I managed to get a bit of info on the guys who might have attacked the carriage."

Temari's eyebrow lifted. "Might have?"

"Don't know yet," Kankuro admitted. It was a difficult task to reconstruct what happened via interrogation given that they only had so many questions they could ask. "Apparently just yesterday there were a few shinobi moving through town. Four of them. They could have simply been people from Hidden Stone visiting or just here to shop, so I can't say if they were the guys we're looking for. Their basic description made them sound like a unit of some kind, so who knows. Better than nothing."

Hinata looked up at him. "Which way did they go?"

Kankuro shrugged. "Beats me."

"Meaning that your info is as good as useless," Temari observed.

"Hey! I just _said_ I got a description of them, didn't I? That's more than you've turned up."

Temari rolled her eyes, a gesture that really bothered Kankuro. She had developed a fondness for driving him into the ground. Even if it was mostly teasing it was still really annoying. "A description of a few random ninjas is hardly decent information, you oaf. We'd just be wasting time following that lead. Come on, let's try to hook up with Gaara and Shikamaru-kun and see what they know."

And with that, Temari stepped back onto the street and began to make her way towards the Inn. Hinata and Kankuro followed—Hinata fell into a silent step beside the older girl, while Kankuro lingered in the rear muttering to himself under his breath.

"Ungrateful bitch. . ."

Temari's head turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder. "What was that?"

A young boy of about ten years rolled his cart over Kankuro's sandaled foot. Sleeping giants arose inside of him and it took the strength of legions for him not to turn around and stab a kunai between the boy's eyes. Instead he simply smoldered in human embers, serpents shifting in the depths of his stomach with a molten slither. He tilted his head back to look into the sunlit mist. He sighed.

"You're hearing things."

x x x x x 

Along the northern ridge of Earth Country was a crescent of low altitude mountains that embraced the thin but long river running all the way down into Fire Country. On the opposing side of the mountain range was a highway that ran a jagged line through the interior of the nation, before stopping at a national bridge that connected Earth with the smaller commonwealth of Fang. Along the mountains was a dense forest of ridgewood trees, ancient and tall things that possessed trunks over twenty-five feet in diameter.

Where the highway met with the edge of this mountain forest was an Inn. It was a roadside affair consisting of several establishments that were far too few in number for the location to be considered a town or village. Aside from the Inn there were a few stores and a restaurant, mostly existing for the purpose of serving the needs of travelers as they delayed their journey for a night to rest. It was here that the group was to rendezvous for the first time with Kurama Nagare.

A gentle stream ran through the mountains and came about a few hundred meters behind the Inn itself, sparkling in the sun between the trees like a trail of water jewels. Kurama sat by himself at the edge of the stream on a wooden stump, surrounded by the sounds of birds chirping and grass bending to the sigh of the wind, fishing. It was a contrasting sight: a well dressed albeit young politician sitting quietly alone in the shift of sun-baked green, fishing pole in hand and straw sunhat atop his head. His bare feet shuffled in the soft grass, skirting the edge of the stream. Wet pebbles winked like washed stone irises.

"Well isn't this just sickeningly quaint. For all of the burdens you carry, looking at you now is kind of deceiving."

Kurama didn't bother turning to face the voice. He heard the quiet movement in the grass as the man from three nights previous walked towards him, eventually stopping to stand beside him. The older man's face was pointing towards the stream, although with the forehead protector covering empty sockets he couldn't see the same vision in a conventional sense. His stance was casual, light glinting off the silver of his scarred Stone Village protector. His deep green business suit made him fade into the forest slightly.

"Have to pass the time in some fashion, don't we?" Kurama said as the taller man's shadow cast over him slightly. "And given all the complications surrounding my daily routine, I've grown a rather genuine fondness for simplistic things. Nothing deceiving about honesty, Jean-san."

Jean snorted. "Touché. Catch anything?"

"Afraid not. Skill is something I lack."

Jean's hands slid into his pockets. "You know, a few towns over in Grass Country, there's a little group of traveling performers. Two teenage sisters and their younger brother. Though you'd never know it looking at them, given that he's this hulking beast who doesn't look anything like fifteen. I caught their act yesterday."

Kurama gave an ironic smile, eyes not leaving the point where his lure disappeared into the water. "Now _that_ is quaint."

"Isn't it? The three of them, they're sitting on a bloodline they probably don't even know about. Since they travel the roads away from the Hidden Villages, their knife throwing and tarot reading and fire breathing is still considered a remarkable thing." Jean shook his head, neck muscles rolling back and forth. "People know these things should be ordinary but still get blown away when they see them up close and personal. I kind of feel sorry for those kids."

"If they aren't shinobi and they're wandering around unwittingly utilizing a bloodline they aren't even aware of, I can imagine," Kurama agreed. He tilted the fishing pole to the side, pulling gently on the lure. "They're going to attract all the wrong kind of attention."

"You said it. The one girl just aims and fires her knives off without even thinking. I bet she's incapable of missing. The other can tell people everything they've done for the last week, right down to the minutia. The boy. . . he flies through a Katon Jutsu without seals, Nagare-kun. He just breathes in and exhales plumes of flame. And he smiles and thanks everyone for clapping." Jean trailed off, scratching his blond hair for a moment in thought. "Makes me wish I still could, you know. See. Really see. They don't have any idea because their parents are dead and they've wandered around together with what they learn from themselves. Kids like that. . . they really remind me of when we were younger."

Kurama gave a slight tug on the line. "It's not like you to get nostalgic, Jean-san. You're slipping."

"Says the man who sits here fishing for nothing."

An eyebrow lifted. "Touché yourself."

Conversation trailed off as both of them suddenly found the past rising up in their thoughts, steam from melted memories fogging their minds. Their eclectic allegiances made them bizarre figures often the target of mistrust. Their atypical names were often a source of controversy: Kurama being an Eastern name while he lived in a Western country, whereas Jean was a Western name and he grew up in an Eastern country. Autumn leaves and electric snow flashed through Kurama's mind like the strobe of a dead universe, his hands suddenly tightening on his lure. He bit down on his lip hard to bury the slowly reviving memory.

A bird flew overhead, shadows twirling down upon them. Jean got to the point. "Konoha and Suna have attached a secondary unit that's currently tailing the primary. They aren't messing around with this. You know Copy-Nin Hatake Kakashi?"

Kurama frowned. "I'm familiar with the name. I suppose I should be flattered, even if I can't take any of the credit."

Jean's head titled down to face Kurama, a blank robotic mask devoid of emotion. "They're going to come down on you hard, Nagare-kun. Like a guillotine. And you can't count on Alexei to fortify your flanks. He'll drop you the second you stop being useful to him. Probably as soon as Ulema is assassinated he'll offer you up as the scapegoat."

"I know. I know that already."

". . . And. . . you're not making any counterstrategies because. . ."

Kurama shrugged, passing the concern off as if it were nothing. "Because Minister Alexei is a complete fool who has no idea whom he's dealing with. I do. I know full well what his benefactors are capable of and if he thinks they're offering him any legitimate loyalty then he is an insane, senile simpleton who frankly deserves what they're ultimately going to do to him." He began to operate the rotary spindle, retracting the lure from its watery nest. "I'm not stepping in between that. I want to stay as far away from them as possible."

"That. . . might be impossible, you know," Jean said slowly. Although his voice lacked concern, there was still a faint undercurrent. "They've really sunk their claws into things. You're the one who thought that the ambush was a message sent to you that they were aware of your opposition to their presence."

"I never said I thought that was the case. I simply made the assumption that it is a distinct possibility," Kurama explained, pulling the rod back towards him. His fingers delicately removed a small collective of snagged moss off of his glistening hook, before gently casting it back into the stream. "Don't forget his brother is from Konoha. Whatever twisted and sick schemes he has, I wouldn't put immediate family relations beyond his agenda. Minister Alexei can come up with all the elaborate ideas and labyrinthine schemes he wants, but it won't change the fact once his people figure a way to open the gate he'll wind up floating down a gutter in several pieces somewhere."

"I find it kind of peculiar that you'd take no effort to countermand those schemes. You realize what happens if they succeed."

"I have no loyalty to Mountain Country. At all." Kurama shifted slightly on the stump, fabric of his pants scraping against severed wood. "You should know that."

Jean scratched the back of his neck. ". . . I guess. What will you do next, then? If everything you have falls to pieces?"

"I don't know. Fish?"

Jean sighed at Kurama's irreverence, knowing that he was probably the only person to which Kurama would allow himself that open honesty. "It's going to take me a little while to get back inside. Things are devolving pretty quickly."

"That's fine," Kurama said, looking up at Jean for the first time since he arrived. "I appreciate your perseverance. I owe you."

"And how. One of these days I'll have to think of how to collect from you." Jean turned, his mouth curling in something of a devious grin. "You know, if this was ten years ago, I would've asked if you'd be mad if you'd mind if I eloped with Hitomi-chan."

Kurama faltered, staring hard at Jean's face. Shadows from his sunhat darkened his eyes. "You're joking, of course."

"Nope. Honest."

"The two of you. . ." Kurama had a very rare look of absolute shock on his face, the fishing pole slipping from his grip and falling into his lap. After a moment his face hardened to an angry glare. "Well. . . why didn't either of you ever say anything? I can't believe you!"

Jean gave a weak chuckle. "You didn't know because it was a completely shallow, loveless tryst. It was a physical relationship built out of convenience and necessity. Not a lot of chances to make something meaningful when you're on the run from basically everyone, you know."

Kurama shook his head, forcing himself to look away in disgust. "God damn you. That's my Sister you're talking about. I should slit your throat, you backstabbing lunatic."

Jean sighed. "Don't get so high-strung. I was mostly kidding."

"Mostly."

After scratching the back of his head in an annoyed gesture, Jean's hands returned to his pockets. "If it makes you feel any better, keeping it from you was her idea. I just went along with it because, like most things, she was probably right."

Having settled down from the surprise, Kurama merely returned his attention to his futile attempts to fish. "Tch. So why are you telling me now of all times?"

"Because it was ten years ago, Nagare-kun. We were _seventeen_. And I didn't think you'd get so uptight about knowing."

Kurama sighed. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair twice before placing it back over his head again. He glimpsed above into the distant blue skies. "I'm not, really. I'm just. . . surprised, is all. It makes a lot of sense in retrospect. All that being said, let's drop the subject and never bring it up again."

Jean's brow flattened in a frown. "Look, I told you in good humor. An err in judgement, alright? She wouldn't get bent out of shape for you, you know. It was fun. We both enjoyed it."

"She was all I had, Jean-san," Kurama said quietly. He swallowed as the unwanted memories began to return, invading armies of a slain past advancing to storm the fortress of his solitude. He took a slow, heavy breath. "That was it. You came and went, but she was static. Everyone and everything was out to kill us back then. So forgive me if sometimes ten years ago feels like ten seconds ago. Okay? If you can't understand that I won't hold it against you, but at the very least I'd appreciate if you'd respect that."

Nodding, Jean respected Kurama's words and didn't comment again. After a moment of silence that would have been awkward between two people who had not known each other as long as they had, Jean turned to face away from the stream. ". . . Yeah. I should probably start to move." His hand came down and he patted Kurama's shoulder twice. He smiled. "Enjoy yourself."

There was a shifting in the air, grass twisting in a spiral wind, and then Kurama was alone again.

He caught nothing else as he sat by himself for another hour in the sun and the grass and the wind.

x x x x x 

Mid-afternoon sun was strangled by a heavy fog. The further the group made their way north down the twisting river, the more the atmospheric blemish thickened; by the time they'd been rowing for just over two hours they could scarcely see the banks on either side of them. Sandy crags from the mountains alongside the gigantic ridgewood trees ran parallel to the small boat, their monolithic forms casting shadows drowned in gray. Soft waves lapped at the thin armor of the vessel, an aqueous caress that reached out of the swollen air like dreamy fingers.

Rotating in shifts, Temari was at the rear of the boat with the long curved oar, eyes concentrating on the limited sight granted to her to steer them correctly. Directly in front of her sat Hinata and Shikamaru, the former holding her hand over the side and letting the cool water run across her fingers. Gaara and Kankuro sat at the front of the small boat, though the distance between them all was minimal given the boat's size.

Hinata's head was drooped over her right shoulder, and she spoke quietly without looking away from the water that parted around her hand. "How far upstream are we going? I remember seeing a map of Earth Country once. . . there isn't another town for a few hundred kilometers."

Shikamaru nodded. "Right. It'll take us another two days to reach the next village, and that's where we're going to be hooking up with the intel-unit. There's actually a Highway-Inn about fifty clicks north of here that we should be able to reach by nightfall." He paused as a yawn interrupted him, shaking off the lethargy then by crossing his arms over his vest. "Have to meet with good old Secretary Kurama there. Taking the river like this was the fastest way since it cuts right through the mountains instead of going around."

"I see," Hinata replied. She lifted her hand out of the water, staring at its glistening shape. "Thanks."

"So. . ." Temari started conversationally, arms strained slightly from the continuous motion. "I've been meaning to ask. You two have been kind of tight-lipped about it ever since you got back. Anything on the advance party or the convoy?"

"No," Gaara answered. He was gazing off into the mist, black-rimmed eyes staring into the smoky abyss. "Nothing."

Kankuro looked over to his brother, sitting with his back facing north. "At all?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "Like he said. There are only so many questions we can ask, you know? It's not like we can just walk up to some whine-o on the street and say, 'Hey, we have no idea what's going on, can you direct us to the people who we're supposed to be after? Oh, and while you're at it, tell us what they look like?' As if. Blind groping is a bother."

"Maybe you're just doing a crappy job of it," Kankuro suggested.

Shikamaru frowned, looking across the boat. "I'm sure that's the case."

"No, he's got a point," Temari inserted, maintaining a balance between speech and repetition. "Kankuro managed to get some information. Right?"

A specter of surprise haunted Gaara's face. "Oh?"

Kankuro nodded smugly. "Damn straight."

"Mind you, it was totally inconclusive and practically illegitimate information that wouldn't really direct us in the right direction without some kind of cosmic luck," Temari continued helpfully. Her sunny voice and demeanor slashed ice-blades across the boat at Kankuro. "But hey, he gets points for trying, right?"

"Now that sounds a bit more accurate," Shikamaru said.

Kankuro's fingers tightened at his sides. "Oh piss off. At least it's _something_. That's more than any of you came up with."

Temari looked at him pointedly as if he were a complete fool, her arms still leaning into a smooth glide. "It's a vague description of some random ninjas who may or may not be anyone even related to our situation. There was no one to cross-reference and solidify the claim, no secondary witness, and absolutely no connection to who they even were. Or where they were from. Or where they were going." She shook her head, golden hair shifting underneath the silver world. "Something? How is that _anything_?"

Kankuro shrugged impassively, looking out over the boat at the water as if he had nothing better to do. "A small little town that has absolutely no routine ninja contact happens to come across a _group_ of people that are all coordinated to some degree, meaning that they were a unit of some kind. Speaking in terms of trajectory, who happens to be just _ahead_ of us." He turned back to look across the vessel at Temari as she stood, blueprints of his human connectivity lain bare before them all. "Maybe that's not a picture of them attacking the carriage or of their secret hideout, but come on! It has to count for something."

Water moved. A silence lingered for a few moments. Shikamaru took a breath in thought. "I don't know. . . that is pretty inconclusive."

Kankuro snorted. "Figures you'd think that."

". . . Perhaps it's not very reliable," Gaara said.

A gravelly noise scraped at Kankuro's throat. "Come on now—"

"But it could still hold some value," Gaara continued, interceding Kankuro's objections. He turned his head to look at Shikamaru and Temari. "I think it would be foolish to dismiss it outright simply because it doesn't tailor to our situation exactly how we want it to."

Temari shrugged. "I guess so."

". . . Alright," Shikamaru conceded. He knew well enough to observe someone pointing out his bias to realize when he was being unreasonable. Unlike some squad leaders, Shikamaru preferred running a group setting that encouraged communication and opinion from everyone on the team instead of blind adherence. "We'll go over the details of what you've got tonight once we get off the road, so to speak. I'm not holding my breath, but I guess it would be a bit hasty to reject it outright."

"See?" Kankuro said, head tilting back to look into ash-sky. "Logic always sides with me."

"Now you're _completely_ full of it," Temari snorted. She purposefully pulled back on the oar causing the boat to halt in its momentum for a moment with a sudden watery surge, grinning as Kankuro's head snapped back and banged against the bow. "Whoops. Sorry about that."

Kankuro glared at her, his right hand rubbing the back of his head. "Whatever. You're in no position to criticize since you didn't even ask around to start with."

Temari rolled her eyes. "It's just like you to gloat."

Instead of growing upset, Kankuro just shrugged. "Being stuck with you for so damn long, I guess you could say I learned from the Master."

All too familiar sounds of sibling altercation flooded their disconnected haven as both Temari and Kankuro began to verbally snipe at each other. Both Gaara and Shikamaru had quickly grown accustomed to that aspect of their relationship and had learned expediently to simply tune the two of them out when necessary. There were times when someone would need to intervene, but it was an intrinsic facet of the siblings core: sometimes real damage could result from hastily interfering with an argument that bore no real weight to begin with.

Hinata was not quite as adept. Anger and hate were poisonous devilry that gouged deeply behind her ribs. She was simply a very sensitive person; carved from glass and sculpted into silk by her own devices. The closer she became to others the more their scything emotions sundered and tore at the brittle fabric encompassing her frame. Exoskeletal diamonds that shattered from rage and despair. So it was taking her much longer to adapt to Temari and Kankuro than it had Shikamaru. She usually remained quietly internal and protected when they grew upset. She sighed to herself, trying to convince herself it was okay they treated each other so poorly. That it was okay that she didn't understand and that they probably didn't want her to.

A swirling movement in the smoky shadows caught Hinata's distracted attention. A flicker in the breathing fog.

She frowned. _What is that. . .? _

The silhouette pulsed. Movement across the water stitched into the spidery air, and then it was gone.

Hinata's hands withdrew from the water, coming together in front of her chest in a cold embrace. She whispered to herself. "Byakugan. . ."

Petals enveloped her mind. The universe throbbed silver as vision exploded across her perception, everything reconnected to the negative and inverted dimension. Ultimate sight disoriented her senses for a slight moment as it always did, her mind frantically trying to adapt to the information that punctured its stability with insatiable continuity. Then she began to glide. Her thoughts guided what she wanted to see as if traveling along an astral freeway at incomprehensible speeds. Her mind _leapt_ across the river as if she'd stepped out of her skin, a higher plane transferring the world to her in leaps and bounds.

And she saw him.

Behind the boat, along the shore. A straw hat covering his head, swords and weapon pouch at his belt. A blue ninja uniform, no forehead protector, black gloves with silver lining. Exactly as Kankuro had told her and Temari they would look like when the three of them were waiting for Shikamaru and Gaara. A disgusting swirl of plagued chakra bled from his body. Hinata had never seen anything like that before. It was as if his spiritual essence was leaking, ribbons trailing off his skin in a crystal river.

His killing intent bludgeoned her mind.

Hinata recoiled visibly, a tortured intake of breath escaping between her teeth in a quiet hiss.

Shikamaru frowned. "Hinata?" With her head tilted slightly he instantly recognized the veins lancing underneath her skin. He raised his hand. "Quiet," he demanded. Kankuro and Temari went silent as all eyes fell on Hinata. "Hinata, what is it?"

". . . On the riverside. . . to our west," she replied, her voice barely above a murmur. "About. . . eighty meters behind us. We're being followed."

Tension began to float in Shikamaru's chest. "How many?"

Hinata's hands tightened briefly. ". . . Just one. No. . . there's another. No, two more. Two others further off the bank in the forest. They're trailing thirty meters to the west of the closest person."

Temari turned to look behind them, seeing nothing but mist. "Description?"

Hinata paused, looking back at Kankuro through her infinite eyes. ". . . They look. . . look exactly like Kankuro-san said earlier."

Annoyance skewered through Shikamaru as he realized that Kankuro had already shared the details of his information with the others and thought it fit to keep him in the dark. The feeling subsided when he realized Kankuro had become as alert and serious as everyone else, displaying the discretion that the exact moment wasn't the best time to be gloating over such a thing. Shikamaru took a slow breath. "I'll be damned."

Gaara's arms uncrossed like pythons sliding down a tree to attack. "Action?"

Shikamaru rallied quickly to formulate a plan. He looked at Temari. "Keep moving forward." His hands fell to his weapons pouch as he turned his attention to the others, slipping inside to touch the cold steel of his projectile weaponry. "Keep the chatter up so they'll still think we don't know they're here. Let's assess whether or not they're hostile before doing anything—"

"Here they come!" Hinata interrupted, hands falling from her chest, tightening into fists. "They're going to—"

A faint whistle could be heard as black metal sliced through nebulous silver.

Shikamaru's eyes widened. "Down!"

Hinata and Shikamaru moved at the same time to avoid the flying shurikens, diving into the depths of the boat. Temari was faster. Relinquishing her grasp on the oar she swung herself into a full stance with tremendous speed, her hands already working her fan open. The spinning blades pierced the gloom with a murderous whisper. Temari spun her battle-fan open like a floodgate; black shudders parting as layered white and violet spilled open in a jagged crescent. The throwing stars deflected off of her fan as it spread wide with metal _chinks_, falling harmlessly into the dark water with hollow splashes.

Shikamaru looked up at Temari with something resembling respect. "Nice," he said simply. He looked down. "Hinata?"

Her eyes were wild and intensely focused. "Just the one on the shore!" She frowned, concentrating on seeing hundreds of feet away behind her. "The others have spread out. . . I think they're trying to flank us!"

Shikamaru stood. "Not happening." He noticed a red flash to his left as Gaara and Kankuro were already beginning to move. A metal twirl pressurized the air around them as Temari whipped the fan around, parting the mist between the boat and the shore. Shikamaru took that as their rallying point. "Everyone off the boat! Now!"

Hinata's head twisted. "He's here!"

A miniature shockwave pressed the boat further through the surface of the water as five sets of feet blasted chakra into its girth. A human blur vanished into the clouds as they scattered, a glinting trail of shuriken and kunai hammering into the wood of the vacant boat with thick shrieks. They had no training together and it was then that they realized the true shortcoming of their arrangement—they had no fluidity amid their union, no mechanism of immediate response through which to marshal chaos into order. Both Shikamaru and Hinata realized this in the cold wet air. Their lack of understanding was a liability.

Were the Sand-nins not siblings.

Temari's eyes raked across the shifting mud along the shore, piercing through mist and fog with a calculated sense of purpose. The silhouette of movement had been brief, but it had been there: a split second emergence had been more than enough for her to lock onto. Her fan folded back under her arms as she crashed into the mud, smearing underneath her sandals in a wet and filthy slide.

She turned and shouted into her blind surroundings. "Gaara, get his feet!"

Over two-dozen feet from where Temari landed Gaara came down. A smooth chakra plateau stretched across his feet as they touched upon the surface of the water, keeping him afloat as if the undulating river was pulverized concrete. His feet shifted to give him a wide stance, his knees bending, eyes radiating emptiness like death voids. His hands came together as he compacted raw energy into his being. A honing of terrible power fluctuated around him, beastly forces lurking like enraged hydras. Silent weapons armed themselves.

The world exploded.

There was a sound like a cannon being fired as Gaara unleashed the channeled energy, granules of sand erupting from his gourd and the riverbed beneath him into a concentrated beam of shattered particles. He had seen the ninja in the mist when Temari had parted the air briefly, a shadow wraith leaking a wretched killer instinct without check. All of reality seemed to warp and convolute into a focalized singularity as Gaara guided his streaming million-minions towards the ninja on the shore. The arm of sand reached treacherously at the hidden ninja, and then three things happened all at once.

As the ninja realized Gaara's violence was imminent he attempted to leap aside only to have Karasu descend upon him like a frenzied vulture, blades for talons, shredding at his skin and tissue with death-fingers. The looming face of an insanely-inanimate wooden killer peered into his eyes with an unvoiced scream, its finger-blades carving two deep red furrows down his back. At the same time Gaara's burning sand immolated his legs, twisted around them in a skin-stripping tornado of movement before crushing bones with force akin to a mountainside avalanche.

Karasu's grasp along with the sand's destruction left him prone for the third and final offensive: a trio of kunai thrown by Temari that struck with horrific accuracy. Iron daggers nestled themselves agonizingly in his shoulder joints and navel, a stream of ichor spraying from the spliced sinews. A tormented scream escaped the fallen ninja, contorted to a wet gurgle as blood sweltered and bubbled in his throat.

Gaara's sand receded. Karasu released its bladed grip. The ninja's body slumped to the mud in an organic ruin.

A few moments later the five of them reconvened around the fallen ninja. His mouth was opened in a silent gasp as he struggled to breathe, dilated pupils rotating randomly as his eye pivoted in a terrified dance within its socket. Filaments of blood stained his clothing and the blackened mud and stones beneath him, trailing towards the river in liquid red arms. His legs were flattened as if they were empty, bones crushed and shattered to irreparable destruction. It had taken all of five seconds for the siblings of the sand to destroy him.

Shikamaru took the gruesome image in stride. "Well that was fun," he muttered, his guard still fortified in case the other ninjas chose to attack. "Hinata—the others?"

Hinata frowned as her vision combed through the surrounding forest with a ravenous speed. "They're. . . they're running away. One to the southwest, the other. . . the other heading north. Their movement is frantic."

Temari took a step over the ninja at their feet. "This one here should be able to talk," her voice icy and enclosed within scorn. Her foot shot out as she kicked him in the ribs, eliciting a pitiful cry from his swollen throat. She looked over at Shikamaru. "The others?"

Shikamaru processed all of the information he possessed and drew up a relative strategy. If the other ninjas possessed similar capabilities as the one at their feet, then they weren't much of a threat. However it would be a mistake to simply assume they had no capabilities that offered danger or harm to the eclectic group. But there was no option to delay a pursuit as they had no idea what the ninjas were after: it was entirely possible they'd return with reinforcements which was unacceptable.

At the same time he was struck with the sheer coincidental energy of convenience. Given that he wasn't privy to the exact details of Kankuro's information he couldn't verify his suspicions, but the interspersed amalgam of time and place wasn't lost on him. Kankuro's description of the ninjas was vague, his specifics non-existent. He knew that much from the argument Temari and Kankuro just had. Shikamaru frowned. How _convenient_ that they'd be attacked by those very people mere hours later.

Battlements encircled the storm of his thoughts. Shikamaru didn't believe in coincidence.

". . . Take them out," he ordered after a momentary pause. He kept his eyes on the broken and twitching body at his feet. Red stained his sandals. "I don't want them stalking us again. Temari, Hinata—follow the one heading north. Gaara, Kankuro—after the one to the southwest. I'll stay here and get what I can out of this bastard. Go now."

Without question or delay the group dispersed, vanishing into the fog as sand and mud sprayed from their retreat. Shikamaru knelt down next to the ninja, looking at his pallid face as tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes. Blood wept. Shikamaru sighed, recalling all of his interrogation training, wondering where to begin.


	5. An End to Strangers

**Of Remnants  
—five—  
'An End to Strangers' **

Mist shimmered like chrome blood rising beneath a wintry lake as Temari and Hinata leapt through its cascading veils. Sodden ground raced by underneath them as they navigated the rocky forest; boulders etched through soil with jagged disarrangement. The shore of the river now far behind them, they became surrounded by the sounds of the fog, eerie and formless calls from hidden creatures as if spectral bodies floated in the twisting silver. Temari kept a close pace by Hinata as to not lose sight of her, while Hinata's eyes hardened like cracked glass as her Byakugan sifted through the atmospheric impurities.

Temari's feet rested on the edge of a ridgewood for less than a second before rebounding. "_Damn_ these trees are a pain," she muttered. Given their massive girth they could not be navigated like the forests of Fire Country: wooden pillars had to be traversed as if they were stone towers, making their pursuit a curving and elaborate affair. As the two of them touched down along the side of another tree they both broke into a run along its craggy surface before leaping once again. "Still have him?"

Hinata's nod was imperceptible. "He's still moving forward. . . he seems to be slowing." As they took to the air again, she frowned. "I'm. . ."

Temari's hands inched towards her fan. "What is it?"

"There's something. . . wrong with him," Hinata said quietly. Her hair tussled with every jump, flaying before her eyes but not blinding her. "He's leaking chakra."

Temari blinked, her eyes constantly roaming her surroundings in preparation for anything. "Leaking? What do you mean?"

"I don't. . . it's coming off him in waves. It's like a genjutsu but something else. Something stronger, or. . . I don't know."

"Okay. This is all kind of strange," Temari decided. She had training to track hostiles through mist so to some degree she wasn't totally alienated from her element; however she had never worked with someone like Hinata that could puncture the superficial layer of reality and see the unseen. It made her primitive tracking methods obsolete and cumbersome. Temari didn't like being forced to rely on someone else. She winced momentarily. "I wish I could see properly."

Hinata's hand came up abruptly. "He's coming back this way."

"Stop," Temari commanded. They halted along the side of a tree, standing in a horizontal contrast to the shifting ground that hid beneath the mist below. A cold wind blew through the crevices of the forest, a loud wailing from all directions as if screams from a warped abyss. Temari continued to push the limits of her sight. "Where?"

Hinata kneeled, bringing her hands together. She frowned in concentration. "About fifty meters ahead of us. He's. . . moving faster." A short gasp escaped her small body. "What. . ."

Temari looked down at her. "Hinata-chan?"

"He. . . he disappeared!"

Body fibers tightened. The hum of adrenaline began to warm the chords underneath Temari's skin. "A henge?"

Hinata shook her head. "No, he shouldn't be able to have--my eyes can't follow him!" Her head snapped back to stare above, a terrified mask enveloping her face as if submerged in a sudden undertow. "Above us!"

Wood shattered. Temari caught the sound before she was able to see anything, miniature vibrations crawling underneath her feet. Both Hinata and Temari dispersed in a random propulsion as the hostile ninja slid down the bark of the tree to assault the location where they had been standing. Scars shorn down the surface of the tree as the ninja slid, carving vertical lines with his kunai. Shards of metal and bark sprayed from the gouges, raining to the ground below like falling black stars.

Temari dropped thirty feet to the forest floor. She tucked in on herself, bending her knees to absorb the impact. Brittle branches lying underneath cracked with a wet snap as she crushed the debris upon her moment of impact. Adrenaline pounded through her veins in a throbbing crimson rush, eyes revolving in myriad directions as to drink the world. After hitting the ground she rolled along a smooth rock, twisting her body to face the direction of her descent. Her hand came down on the wet stone and she became statuesque in her crouch.

Above, at the edges of what was visible, the ninja stood. Face hidden by his straw hat, thin form lurking deviously like a shark maneuvering through dark waters. Temari moved to unfasten her fan, but as she did the ninja's hands began to dance through several seals. Without a sound he evaporated into the mist, swallowed like a reflection on the surface of a disturbed lake. Emptiness flourished.

Apprehension hammered at Temari. While she couldn't see to the degree Hinata could she was nevertheless capable of attuning her spiritual grid to receiving chakra signals. She had _felt_ the ninja fall upon them, just as one feels the ghostly touch of silk curtains. Now that signal had extinguished, leaving her alone and trapped in the gathering storm.

"Dammit! Where the hell did you come from?" Temari's fingers tightened into fists, eyes frantic as they scoured her surroundings. "Shit, I lost him again!" Movement touched at the edges of her peripheral, her head twirling. "Hinata-chan!"

Hinata dropped down beside her quietly. "I'm okay. . . he vanished again. It's like he's teleporting everywhere. I can't follow him."

The incoming violence crashed into Temari's pendulous thoughts.

_Behind! _

Her body moved of its own accord; throttling the existence engine with primal mechanisms, the intrinsic desire to live taking control of her circuitry. A swell of killing intent crashed over her spiritual essence like a furious typhoon. Temari ducked as the ninja manifested in a coalescence of flesh directly behind her, his hand stabbing forward with fingers extended. The knife-blow intended for her neck grazed the tip of her hair, casting a dagger shaped shadow over her pale skin. In the same motion, Temari's hand fell to her weapons pouch and retrieved a kunai, fingers flipping the black iron into her palm, her wrist snapping upwards fluidly.

Skin split in a crimson torrent. The kunai met with the man's flattened hand, skewering through his palm until it caught on the spliced sinews. Metal entwined with bone. Temari continued to move. Her other hand lay flat across the stone as she corkscrewed, leg scything around to catch the attacking ninja's ankles. There was a wet _crunch_ as her heal impacted his ankle, bone cracking inward as the joint exploded.

Hinata leapt above to cling to the side of a nearby boulder, legs bending, coiling to rebound and attack.

Delusive within his agony—or perhaps even in spite of it—the ninja continued his assault on Temari. Nearly falling from his shattered ankle, he attempted to barrage Temari's crouched form with a series of punches; hand quaking from the lodged metal that severed nerves, attacks coming in wide and predictable arcs. "You can't take me! I didn't want any part of this!" His good hand forked towards Temari's face, missing completely as she leapt to the side. Eyes wide and wild, words coming out faster and more frantic. "He lied to me! LIED! I never agreed to any of this! He. . . He can't take everything just like that!"

Temari frowned, ignoring the crazed ramblings. Hinata had gone out of her field of vision again, meaning that her counterattacks on the frenetic ninja had to be precise. Knowing that her fan was out of the question, she fell back on alternative methods of lethal violence. Her feet slid through a trail of moss along a boulder, smearing a filthy green across the dampened stone. Holding her ground she waited for the next attack. The ninja came at her again, throwing a hammer-blow with his impaled hand at her chest. Her forearm jerked upwards to brush the surging fist aside, striking his wrist with the flat of her palm. Skin shifted as the feeling similar to crushed leaves brushed her senses when the small bones cracked. Her other hand rifled forward, colliding with the ninja's solar plexus.

Blazing flames began to move.

In the split second that the ninja was thrown backwards Temari's hands came together. Chakra surged fiery tendrils through her pounding veins. Her hands moved through five seals in less than two seconds. She drew in a deep breath, oxygen funneling into a molten cyclone, preternatural energy forming an invisible furnace inches away from her mouth and nose. Air shifted. Mist spiraled then became still.

She exhaled.

A second sun bloomed as a geyser of flame blasted from Temari's Katon jutsu. Intense heat blanketed everything before her; glowing plumes spread like solar wings as the mist parted briefly from the sudden cataclysm. The flare struck the ninja as he attempted to evade, scorching across his calves, igniting skin and flesh. Heat washed over her in dry waves, fire and light haloing above. Temari drew back, truncating the flames. The forest darkened as thick charcoal smoke bled into the mist. Her interlocked fingers uncoiled as she prepared to deliver a finishing attack on the incinerated ninja.

Temari frowned. He was gone.

She spit angrily onto the ground where he had been. "You damn coward!" Her head turned to where she had last seen Hinata leap towards. "Hinata-chan? You there?"

A scraping noise birthed above her, Hinata leaping down beside Temari shortly thereafter. She looked at the older girl apologetically. "Y-Yes. I'm sorry, I got disoriented."

"It's fine," Temari assured her. Anger continued to uncoil and slide underneath her skin like glacier ice, a cold armor of malevolence pulling rapidly into togetherness. Her eyes darted about the burnt clearing. "Can you still trace him?"

Hinata concentrated. "Yes." Her pallid fingers tightened against each other. "He's moving north again. Much slower. . ."

Temari nodded. "I got him pretty good. There's no way he can outrun us anymore. Let's go and get this over with."

A terse moment elapsed as Hinata gestured in the direction the wounded ninja had fled, then both of them ascended once again to the trees in pursuit.

x x x x x 

Although confident in his own tracking capabilities, Kankuro knew they were vastly inferior to Gaara's. The wretched beast sleeping within his younger brother saw to that: many of Gaara's senses were heightened to an almost bestial realm, making him capable of dissolving the world into a blueprint of reality. Kankuro was grateful for that blessing as they sped through the fog. It allowed him to follow instead of lead—Kankuro wasn't certain he'd do an adequate job of the latter because he felt too disconnected from the moment.

Baki's broken form churned in the maelstrom of his thoughts.

Kankuro kept stride with Gaara, anxious fervor driving his movements. "Up ahead. . . did you catch sight of him?"

Gaara's narrowed eyes did not waver. "Yes, just briefly. He faded too quickly for anything substantial but I can feel the wake of his chakra."

Kankuro frowned. "Wake?" He waited for a moment as they came down upon a formation of rocks. He held his hand up, and Gaara refrained from rebounding, dulled green meeting him from the edges of blackened slits. Kankuro's feet shifted on the stone. "Hold up then, he could be leading us into a trap. Maybe we should regroup?"

"Perhaps," Gaara agreed. The mist moved with the cool wind, layers of silver lurking like snake skin sliding along the surface of water. Gaara looked up to the trees, honing in on the avenue of the target's departure. "But this trail is all we have," he continued, then leaping again into the trees. Kankuro followed. He waited until his older brother fell into step beside him before speaking again. "We have to keep pressuring him otherwise we'll lose the advantage. So be alert."

Kankuro nodded, trying to suppress the pre-combat euphoria from clouding his judgement. He felt the malice shift into position; excavated from the ruins of his darker recesses, a terrible structure of wrath and vengeance that eclipsed the vital rules of emotional disembodiment that shinobi were trained to live by. All of the failings, all of the inexplicable facts, all of the damage and all of the loss created within the last week now had a tangible source. An effigy through which Kankuro could expel his misgivings and anger upon.

_I'm going to kill them because I can. _

The behemoth of death began to move.

The next few minutes elapsed in a void. Time seemed fractured and hung along a chronological string; everything orbited their chase as if waiting for its conclusion, each instant appearing to fold into the next until linear progression crashed to a halt. A universe of stopped time, Kankuro and Gaara the only motion within its suspended features. Kankuro's thumbs ran over the pads of his fingers with a shaking apprehension. He maintained course on Gaara's leaps through the gargantuan trees without another word.

He caught the movement a mere instant after Gaara. Dark iron penetrated the mist like metal slivers, several kunai soaring towards their leaping forms. Gaara's hands reached back and he expelled a subtle chakra through his palms, slowing his forward momentum as to fall into the line of fire. There was a sound similar to that of lightning striking a conductive rod as the projectile blades slammed into Gaara's shield of sand. A spherical wall flared into being like cascading water independent of Gaara's will, the various knives striking the forcefield and then falling to the ground below.

Kankuro hit the nearest tree, rebounding in a downward dive with the push of his legs. He plunged towards a collective of branches, grabbing the thick bark with a gloved hand and then swinging himself so as to face the way they'd came. He crouched while his fingers pressed into the wood, pressure forking stress through the cracked surface. Gaara came down beside him against the side of the tree, holding his position through a chakra grip. His arms uncrossed.

There was nothing.

Kankuro frowned. "Was that. . . a shadow clone?" He began searching the trees, trying to locate the source of the attack. His teeth ground together. "Shit, I can't see a damn thing. How about you? Anything?"

Gaara peered down at the ground like a stone gargoyle, perched atop a macabre civilization. "There. Below us."

Kankuro followed Gaara's gaze to the ninja on the ground. Instead of pursuing them into the trees to continue his attack, he was crouched atop a shattered tree stump, staring back at them like a frightening animal evading the maw of a bloodthirsty predator. His straw hat had fallen backwards, straps holding it in place around his neck. Kankuro had to squint to solidify the image, but there was obvious fear in the way the shinobi moved, breathed and looked up at them. A kunai was gripped in each of his hands, muscles crushing against wrapped steel.

After a moment of staring each other down, the ninja brought the knives up in front of him in a defensive stance. He shouted up to them, his voice tiny in the echoing and ghostly forest. "You can't take me! I won't--no! You can't see inside my head! I'll kill you even if I have to die! You can't stay inside!"

"Well now," Kankuro said.

Gaara frowned. "Peculiar."

"Just a little," Kankuro agreed. They watched then as the shinobi leapt to his feet and began to blindly throw kunai and shuriken in random directions. There was an obvious desperation to his paranoid actions, each toss brought with it a terrified whimper as the man below them tried to fend off an invisible assailant. After a few moments of watching the hysterical shinobi, Kankuro felt anger begin to rise within him. Rage tightened his hands into fists. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Gaara stepped slowly off of the trunk of the tree and onto the branch Kankuro perched atop of. As his feet set down he knelt, hands coming together in a concentration seal; molding chakra into surveillance gadgetry to analyze what kind of diseased particles were floating about the shinobi. Kankuro simply continued to watch, disdain and animosity growing with each passing moment.

Gaara's hands fell away and he stood. "He's suffering from some mental disturbance. A genjutsu, probably. His reality has been destroyed."

"Too bad for him," Kankuro said. He stood, his fingers snapping the buckled strap restraining Karasu. Bandages began to loosen in a frayed sliding of fabric. "He's mine. Stay here."

Gaara's eyes remained on the ninja below. "What do you intend to do?"

"What do you think? To see if he's really one of them."

A shriek tore up to them as the ninja's arms came up, blocking a nonexistent attack. Gaara's eyes met with Kankuro at their edges. "What will that prove?"

Kankuro shrugged, slinging Karasu off his back. The sheltered marionette crashed onto the branch with a thick clank, metallic components resonating from the impact. "It'll prove what it proves. I need to know if they were the ones who attacked Baki-sensei." He caught Gaara giving him an analyzing look, frowning at the implied condescendence. "Don't act like you expect me to file this away or stay distant. Don't patronize me like that. I can handle myself."

Gaara took another look down. ". . . Fine. Be careful. If things get hectic I'm stepping in, whether you like it or not."

Without another word or glance, Kankuro stepped off the branch and dropped down. Karasu remained in place next to Gaara, seals unraveling as Kankuro carried the cloth restraints in his descent. A sudden twitch in his fingers sent energy strings upwards until the puppet was under his control. By the time Kankuro braced himself and touched down on the soft ground, Karasu had already escaped its prison and had been guided into maneuvering around to the other side of the clearing. To maintain the illusion of solitude, Kankuro put his hands in his pockets—fingers still playing an invisible piano, controlling his benefactor with ease.

By then the shinobi was crouched atop the same stump just over a dozen meters away, looking in the direction away from Kankuro.

Kankuro walked up to him casually. "Hey asshole."

A gravelly noise came from under the ninja's feet as he twisted, brittle and dead wood disintegrating beneath him. His eyes met with Kankuro's, terrified and deranged. "You! You stay. . . stay out of. . . you can't take me inside! I'll never let you!"

Kankuro was ready for him. By then the crazed ninja had relinquished all of his weapons and was forced to rely on mediocre taijutsu. He leapt into the air and twisted to deliver a spinning kick on Kankuro's seemingly detached form, hands still in his pockets. Woodland creatures scattered as the man came towards Kankuro's head foot first. Instead of calling upon Karasu, Kankuro's hands flew out of his pockets and grabbed the man's leg, fingers sinking into his flesh through the cloth, using the inertia to throw the man over his shoulder.

A wet twirling stormed from the impact as the ninja crashed into fallen branches and leaves. He struggled to bring himself to his feet, his arms shaking as they pressed against the sodden ground.

Kankuro looked pitilessly at the man. "You lunatic," he snarled. Anger continued to grow at the shinobi's inept display. He took a step towards him. "Were you there?"

"I was. . . I. . ." There was a wilt in the man's voice, emotion smothering his mouth. He stood, fists clenched. "No." He spun around, the same fear still driving his movements but now carrying with it a stronger sense of resolve. "It's going to start again. . ."

He never had a chance to attack again. Kankuro leapt forward before the shinobi could dodge, hand shuddering closed around the back of his neck. A feral jaw widened, Kankuro's lips parting to bear teeth; his leg then shooting upwards as he slammed the edge of his knee into the man's chest, ribs shattering like wishbones. Blood spat from the ninja's parted lips, Kankuro then throwing him back onto the ground.

Kankuro towered over the coughing man like a spire of death, resolute and ruthless in a sea of calamity. "Tell me you're just kidding around. Seriously. You have to be fooling with me. . . you can't let me think this is what I've been chasing, can you? You couldn't have been there. Baki-sensei would've never lost to someone so goddamn_ pathetic_."

A trembling hand wiped blood from the man's mouth. ". . . No! NO! Th-The. . . the eyes!" His hands came up childishly to cover his ears as he drew in upon himself. "They're. . ."

Kankuro grabbed the man's garb by its collar, raising him up into the air. "Please. Tell me this isn't what you really are."

Fear-warped irises shrunk as the man's hands beat weakly against Kankuro's arm. His voice was a tortured whisper. "We burned everything to the ground. . . tore them apart. . . he made us. . ."

And that was the final moment. All restraints buckled against Kankuro's feelings snapped open as hate resurrected the stronghold of violence within him. He could feel himself standing in the hospital room again looking down upon the human ruins of his Sensei, trying to piece together some kind of rational explanation as to how it had happened. The entrapment of Gaara as he tried futilely to console him. The disinterested dismissal of Shikamaru, put in charge of the few things Kankuro cared about and acting as if they were nothing.

An exquisite mixture: his lonely and brutal past, a childhood slain before it was born, a ferocity sleeping as he hid inside himself in fear every single day from his own Father. From his own brother. Torrents of these stored sensations streamed through him in a dire and reptilian alchemy; gates of restraint thrown open as the channels of enmity rose and began to flood the banks of his control.

His quiet voice was thunderous. "You liar. You. . . liar." All sympathy then razed, his free hand curled into a fist. "You fucking _liar_."

His fingers uncoiled and he let the man drop. Before he could touch upon the ground Kankuro was already attacking. Fingers stabbed forward like knives of bone, perforating the man's chest; squeezing between the shattered ribs, bending them out of place and puncturing his lungs. His fingers wrapped around the ribcage as if it were steel bars, holding him in the air by his insides. Kankuro's head crashed forward, smashing into the shinobi's nose; bone and cartilage cratered, a stream of scarlet spurting from the destroyed joint. Kankuro could barely feel the muscles move against his hands.

"There's no way you could have been the ones. There's no way. . . You can't even stand on your own goddamned feet!" Fingernails scraped from skin to liquid, the hot and reeking sludge of exposed organs against his fingers nothing compared to the draconic firestorm of his thoughts. "Look at you. You make me sick, you weak little. . . God, this has to be a joke!"

Spasms contorted the shinobi's entire body, tears streaming down his reddened face. "I was there. . ." he whispered in a damaged gasp. Breath seizured, air of life truncated by Kankuro's infiltrating digits. "I saw it all. I saw everything. . ."

Kankuro stared him in the face for a long moment before saying, ". . . I don't believe you."

Fingers withdrew. Sliding free of their organic crevices, letting the man fall to his knees. Before entirely toppling over Kankuro's hands came down around the shinobi's head, gripping his hair and face. Adrenaline surged as the furious Sand-nin yanked with every ounce of strength he possessed, the man's head twisting further than his spine could pivot, neck snapping like a wood knot in a fire. He crumpled lifelessly to the ground. Kankuro stared at the corpse, blood running down his fingers, and felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

A faint stirring behind him rustled leaves. "Hey," Gaara spoke.

After a moment Kankuro turned.

Gaara stood there with his arms crossed, face empty. "Kill them without vengeance, you said?"

Kankuro didn't reply.

"Did you do this 'just because you could'?"

Bloody fingers tightened and relaxed a few times before Kankuro responded, his voice hoarse. ". . . You don't have the right to ask me that."

Gaara didn't falter. "I know. You're right. I don't. But I still asked. Did you?"

A cool wind shifted. Kankuro's heart raced, anger slowly subsiding. He stared Gaara in the eyes. "Yes. There was nothing else."

x x x x x 

Methodology regarding torture and interrogation had been covered in the Academy, but had been grossly understated and brushed aside regarding the actual emotional severity involved. A fact Shikamaru rapidly became acquainted with as he stared down at the wheezing enemy nin, body scattered like a red human web. It took the teenager a few moments to gather the sadistic manifolds within him that he would require. His breathing was shallow although antithetical to relaxation.

He briefly thought of Ino and Chouji. He didn't know why.

When he knelt down in an effort to be cheerful for his own sake, every word came out wrong.

"Okay," he said, knees bending without a sound. He tried to make eye contact, although the dying man wouldn't look at him. "So. How are we feeling today? Any pains to speak of?"

"Agh. . . I. . . _oh, _you. . . _hurts_. . ."

Shikamaru scratched the side of his mouth. "Hey, that's great. Listen, I was wondering if you'd mind answering some questions for me." Although focused heavily on the task before him, he still engineered a sense of awareness; there was no safety to be found in complicity, and simply because he'd sent the others to track down the retreating shinobi in no way indicated he was safe from harm. He gave brief surreptitious glances along the shoreline. "I'm not really big on _talking_, you know, so. . . yeah, I was hoping maybe you'd be able to do most of that. So. . . let's start with why you attacked us."

A phlegm-laden cough cracked the silence. Deep crimson—nearly maroon—wept from the edges of the man's lips. "I. . . God, I can't feel my legs. . . I'm sorr--no, I can't feel. . ."

"Yo," Shikamaru said, trying to capture his attention. He frowned as he was met with a whimpered distance, the man seeming to teeter on the frontier of consciousness. "Hey, stay with me." Shaking will forced Shikamaru to bite down on his tongue, reminding himself of where he was and what he was supposed to be after. He slapped the ninja across the face, hating the action. "Come on, work with me here. I don't want to have to get rough, alright? I'm not the torturous type. Just answer my questions and I'll put you out of your misery. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

An aerated fluid trickled. Shikamaru sighed. The man had tried to spit in his face, only he lacked the energy and instead saliva was trailing down his own cheek.

"Hey," Shikamaru finally said, this time with more disdain. "_Hey_. Can you understand me?"

". . . Yes."

"Okay then." Intensity swam through Shikamaru's stomach like a nest of eels. He shifted his stance onto the balls of his feet. "Why did you attack us?"

"What do you--you did," the man answered, his voice strained. He breathed, staring into the sky. "You attacked us first. . ."

"Jeez, what's with this guy?" Shikamaru assessed the situation, realizing that he wasn't going to extract any kind of information without implementing a more poignant interrogation ethic. Ghastly actions floated up through his thoughts like corpses from a lakebed. Behind his eyes, where he could not be observed, he began to close the doors of his compassion. His voice lacked warmth when he spoke again. "Look, I'm serious now. Stop playing games. Let's make this quick for both our sakes. _Why_?"

A frivolous movement pushed the ninja further into the depression of crushed sand he lay in. He tried to turn himself, the gesture futile as his legs were damaged beyond repair. He gave up on the attempt, turning his head instead to look up at Shikamaru. "I. . . I told you! We were. . . ow, _fuck_. . . we're just. . . you attacked us! What were we supposed to do! We had to defend ourselves!"

". . . Fine. Be a pain. Next question then. What are you after?"

The nin swallowed to steady his voice. ". . . I won't tell you anything. You've already. . . you've taken everything from us."

Shikamaru grit his teeth behind his lips. Fiends of terrible wrath began to dangle the torturous instruments for him to touch. His eyes caught the glint of the kunai embedded in the man's shoulder. "I'm not detecting a lot of logic on your behalf here, guy. Enough with this. Answer me straight." He wrapped his hand around the weapon, fingers sliding over the bandaged metal and then tightening. His thumb jerked without moving the blade, indicating what he was about to do. "Otherwise I'll have to do something neither of us really wants. What are you after?"

"N-Nothing!" Frailty entered the shinobi's voice, his eyes resting on Shikamaru's fingers. "We just. . . following orders! Carrying the documents. . . you're the ones who took them away! You're the ones who attacked us!"

"So you _did_ attack the carriage for the documents," Shikamaru stated. His eyebrow rose, hoping the deliberately casual gesture would throw the ninja off. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe. You didn't exactly give a first-rate performance here. You expect me to believe that you're capable of defeating a Jonin? Yeah. As if."

A terrified look contorted the shinobi's pale face. "Why are you. . . we didn't want it to be like this. Please. _Please_ believe me! We stole the documents, okay! It. . . Alexei put us up to it! You can have them! Just. . . oh God it _hurts_. . ."

Shikamaru frowned, his grip on the kunai inadvertently loosening. "Wait, you _stole_ the documents?" Pieces of the amorphous sculpture began to take faint shape. As the information connected in his thoughts, Shikamaru's eyes widened in realization. "Oh for the love of. . . let me see your eyes." He lay his hand across the man's forehead, surprised momentarily at how cold his skin was, then leaned over. He forced the man to look him in the eyes. ". . . Residual dilation. The post effects of genjutsu. You really didn't attack the carriers, did you? You--wait, what are you. . ."

Lips bulged. Skin shifted upwards around the shinobi's jaw, and blood began to stream from the corners of his mouth as if pipelines had fractured and water was bursting free. A dead feeling razed across Shikamaru's stomach, collapsing down onto him with otherworldly weight. There was a horrible and muffled tearing noise, then the man's jaw snapped closed inside his mouth. Tears rolled down his face.

Shikamaru tried to breathe.

". . . You did not just do that."

A trembling moment elapsed. Shikamaru hesitated before a spasm wracked the man's throat and he coughed, hot fluid spurting from his mouth in red droplets. Shikamaru put his fingers against the ninja's swollen lips and pulled his mouth open, wincing at the damage within. Blood overflowed, rushing down over the surface of his chin and cheeks, as if his face was melting slick metal. A shredded mass of flesh was lodged at the back of his throat, Shikamaru then pushing down the wave of nausea that crashed through his stomach.

He'd chewed through his own tongue.

What was left of the ninja's halved tongue lashed about his mouth like a beached fish. Not only could he no longer speak to divulge information, but he was going to be dead within minutes—either from sheer blood loss or from choking to death on his own ichor. Shikamaru withdrew his fingers from the man's mouth, ignoring the warm liquid spilling onto them. He took a long breath, realizing the ramifications of what just happened.

He should have stopped him. But instead, he'd been paralyzed. He just sat there and watched, amid the wretched stink of ruptured organs and coppery blood. Aluminum floating in the heavy air, tasting of opened scabs and gluttonous disease and iron walls engulfing him on all sides. It had been as if he'd become ensnared by his own shadow technique.

This was their only means of information. Now it had been lost. He'd ordered the others to kill their respective targets and he had faith in their abilities; where he'd fallen short had been confidence in himself, as they were now handicapped due to his utter miscalculation. Something he knew that some of the others would be more than willing to point out when they learned of their prisoner's fate. And their cynicism would, this time, be entirely deserved. Shikamaru grimaced.

**_Shit_**.

Shikamaru rubbed at his eyes tiredly as the man began choking. "Oh, you. . . troublesome _bastard_."

After watching the pitiful throes of a dying shinobi for several seconds more, Shikamaru sighed. He reached over and withdrew the kunai embedded into the man's stomach, metal withdrawing with little resistance. He flipped the blade around, gave the man an ambiguous look that even he could not be certain of the meaning, and plunged the throwing knife into the man's forehead. His skull split easily as if waxed paper. The choking stopped.

It took a few moments for Shikamaru to realize he was shaking. He interlocked his fingers tightly, trying to pretend he wasn't. He'd really let the team down this time, something he had sworn to himself he'd never do again. Reality intervened upon his promise with deconstructive tools. He ignored the falling and broken machinery in the architecture of his mind, focusing instead on what few things he had managed to ascertain. The words came back to him in the rattling silence.

_We stole the documents, okay! _

That could only mean one of two things. And given the presence of an extreme genjutsu polluting the man's sanity, Shikamaru suspected he knew which one it was.

A shaking hand scratched the back of his head as he looked up into the dull sky, trying to forget he'd just killed someone. Trying to remember what he'd told himself countless times before. Vividly the fragility returned to him: he remembered Temari, Tsunade, his Father and Shizune encircling him. Their scathing warmth. He swallowed heavily, trying to recreate that feeling once again. It didn't come.

He looked down at the dead ninja, wondering what to do next.

"Man. . ."

x x x x x 

Hinata deactivated her Byakugan, veins submerging beneath her skin like diving amphibians. After Temari had wounded their target his ability to retreat had been entirely compromised: he left physical evidence of where he had been through distilled foliage or trails of blood. To conserve chakra Hinata then fell back on her more natural tracking skills, eyes watching for abrupt alterations to the surrounding terrain.

There had also been a change in Temari after they had set off for a second time. Hinata quickly noticed how intense the older teenager became after the initial violence, her words transformed into cold and lifeless objects, terse exchanges as she throttled towards her prey. More than before Hinata was reminded at how different the Sand-nins were—although fading, the memory of their brutality and caustic demeanor stalked through the jungle of her thoughts, rekindling a feeling of invisible pressure. They were killers. No matter how friendly or nice they were to her, it was the irrevocable fact.

Temari leapt onto the side of a tree, running along its marred features before coming to a halt. Standing at a bisected angle towards the ground, she knelt to retrieve a kunai embedded in the toughened bark. She wriggled the steel before it slid free, and her frosty irises peered closely at its blade. Blood ran the length of its grooves, meaning that it had been the knife she'd stabbed the target's hand with. After pulling a small cloth from her pouch she wiped the blade clean then deposited the weapon back with her other projectile ordnance.

Hinata came down quietly beside her just as Temari was inspecting the hole. Her fingertips brushed against the lateral scar.

"From the looks of the entry depth, I'd say he stabbed it through the tree from this spot," Temari decided. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, analyzing the texture of the splice. "He must've been in this exact location just a few moments ago." Her head turned, peering down below where they could make out the faint silhouette of a rocky formation. She spoke without looking up at Hinata. "Meaning that he should be right in front of us. Try again."

After kneeling beside Temari, Hinata nodded. "Byakugan." With optical mastery Hinata plunged her sight into the smoky ruins, vision drinking the shape of stones, moss and decaying wood. A whirl of movement blew across the surface, leaves pirouetting before touching down softly upon the mud. The shinobi's body coalesced into view like a digital readout, leaning against a large stone while he reached agonizingly for his swollen and destroyed ankle. "Found him. About seventy yards directly in front of us, down by that rock formation. He's favoring his foot. . . I don't think he'll be moving again right away."

Temari nodded. "Didn't think so. Alright, so we have a moment to coordinate this, then. Lucky for us."

Hinata willed her Byakugan to recede, looking over to the older kunoichi. "Okay. . . what did you have in mind?"

"Hm. . ." Temari gave a brief glimpse to the halo of trees orbiting the small hill of boulders, pulsing darkly under the cover of mist. She formulated a plan immediately. "Alright. I'll sneak around behind him so we can trap him in a pincer. Wait for about a minute and then drop in on him and engage. Then once he's distracted with you, I'll come up from behind and finish him off. Sound okay?"

Hinata swallowed. "O-Okay." Her fists clenched together as she wove the frayed threads of uncertainty dangling inside of her into structured resolution. "I'm ready."

"Good," Temari stated simply. She stood, hands falling to her sides. "One minute."

And then Temari was gone and Hinata was alone. Crouching like a predatory spider, Hinata's fingers touched the surface of the tree, a cool and soaked wind stinging her pallid skin. She began to count, numerals spinning in a cerebral manifest, the time of violence drawing ever nearer. A river of adrenaline began to flow underneath her surfaces, energies of dread and intensity funneling towards an uncertain climax. There, on the precipice of the trees, counting down in the murky silence, Hinata felt her mind begin to slip beyond her reach.

She thought of her Mother. A pale yet beautiful woman who held nothing but kindness for the young Hyuuga, teaching her without speaking how to be forgiving of others. A warm and delicate soul claimed by the talons of death before Hinata could fully understand the meaning of those claws. Staring down into the rocks below, fortifying the resolve necessary to attack and kill a man she did not know, Hinata thought of her Mother's voice. There weren't any words she could recall specifically, but simply the sound, a glowing sea-wave tugging softly at the delicate ropes holding Hinata together.

After that came the Academy. All of her classmates learning how to arm themselves with mechanisms to defend and destroy other people. A respectful silence from her and her peers as the solemn voice of the Third explained to them that, sometimes, to protect what they stood for they would have to kill other people. That sometimes the only way to save someone was to hurt others. That it was okay if they didn't fully understand and it was painful. Hinata remembered perfectly how Hokage-sama had told them all that it _should_ be painful. That killing others should never become an easy thing.

Ten seconds. The gaping abyss began to yawn open.

Hinata tried to steady her breathing. _Naruto-kun. . . I'm scared. I don't want to feel this way. But they're counting on me, so. . . _

But then the moment had arrived and the time for thought was over.

Pushing the swarming demons of uncertainty into the pit of her shadowy recesses, Hinata began to move. Like a switch snapping closed she disengaged the chakra along her feet holding her to the tree, gravity taking control and guiding her towards the ground. Her legs coiled, bending with fervent energy, using the inertia to propel herself like an organic rocket. Scissoring against the wood Hinata sprung into the air, looming over the rocky hill like a bird of prey, shadow swimming through the bottomless nebula.

_. . . So I have no choice. _

Her downward drive hadn't gone undetected as the shinobi used whatever propulsion he still possessed and flew from his hiding place like a startled hare. As he glided along the ground, he slammed his hand into the soft earth, chakra pitching a massive stone into the air. A spinning axe-kick with his good foot sent the airborne rock hurtling towards Hinata, a misshapen planet crashing towards the orbit of her sun. All concern then extinguished as her training then superceded mental command. One of the various jutsu she had been learning in the past few months folded into her chakra stream.

Small hands came together in a sequence of elemental seals. Byakugan flared open like an iridescent dragon, the world taken under its prismatic wings. Arctic swells linked shimmer-fingers as frozen chakra extended down the length of her arms, coiling together and then expanding in a solid wall of ice. A faded blue flickered. Then water exploded into a frost shield, running a parallel pillar of ice to Hinata's body. The boulder impacted Hinata's shield and froze; ice and stone then shattering into millions of shards, earth mirrors scything through the distilled air.

Hinata's hands shot out, grabbing two of the ice splinters spinning around her and then hurled them in the same motion, frost missiles parting the mist as if it were water. A clumsy attempt to evade caused the first splinter to miss, but the second glacier blade impaled the ninja's left thigh causing him to shriek in sudden agony. As he stumbled forward, hand falling to the crystal lodged in his leg, Hinata hit the ground hands first. Her momentum kept her flying forward, she used her hands to flip around and land a solid kick with both of her feet onto the shinobi's collarbones. A wet crack shuddered under her feet as his broken skeleton sunk into his flesh.

Normally Hinata would have stopped. He was defeated: both legs now in severe disrepair, collarbones shattered, hand impaled. Whatever skills he did possess were useless given that he had no chance anymore. But Hinata couldn't. That wasn't what she was ordered to do. A painful sympathy tore across her heart as the shinobi stubbornly tried to keep fighting, staggering on his feet and trying to maintain a battle stance.

_Please stop. . . Just stop fighting. _

It was pitiful. Hinata could easily tell this man was no ninja as she dodged his attempted knife-blow by rolling back and away. He barely knew basic Academy level taijutsu. Fighting someone like this was anything but rewarding or self-gratifying. It was terrible. Blood running down his face he met her eyes with terrorized orbs, an unvoiced scream lurking in their petrified swirl. He tried to kick her, droplets of blood from his impaled leg spattering on her jacket when she blocked his shin with her forearm.

_Please, stop! Please! _

After falling back, unwounded hand resting on a moss-covered stone, the shinobi steadied himself. His hands then came together, shaking like broken leaves, and began to form a sequence of seals. Hinata knew that restraint was no longer an option. In spite of the voices pleading for his peaceful submission inside of her, and against every moral principle she had come to believe in, Hinata attuned herself to killing him.

Hands fell into her deactivation stance. Her eyes searched across his chakra map and located its pulsing holes. Before he was even on his third seal she began attacking him, smashing across his glowing portals and closing off his dimension of energy. He had no defense to offer. It felt as if she was attacking someone unarmed and incapable of protecting themselves, like a gentle elderly grandparent or a neighborhood dog or a hospital patient or a friend that trusted you enough to turn their back to you. She felt his life fade every time she touched him.

And then Temari crashed down on him.

Hinata leapt back and dropped the Byakugan, kneeling on a cluster of broken and sodden wood. There was a noise like torn cloth as blood sprayed into the air, the shinobi's hands then falling to his sides. Wide eyed, Hinata looked up and saw Temari standing behind him, kunai extended; a black metal blade burrowing through the back of his neck and puncturing the front of his throat, a third eye weeping streams of blood down his chest. His mouth opened and closed in hollow gasps before Temari's hand twisted, the blade smearing through the mush of his esophagus and then pushing to the side. The kunai sliced through the right side of his throat cleanly.

_I'm so sorry. . . _

He fell to the ground without a noise. Hinata looked up at Temari, for a moment terrified at the look she saw; nothing of the friendly and confident girl she had spent time with but instead a feral and remorseless beast. Eyes devoid of anything resembling compassion, lips curled back in a rictus grin, emboldened and accompanied by the momentous force of the killing and _enjoying it_.

As the body slumped to the ground the expression was gone.

Hinata stood, unsure what to feel, and then leaned back against a rock. She crossed her arms, hands wrapping around her biceps, eyes staring at the dead shinobi.

Temari let out a breath. "Well. There we go." She pulled the cloth she used earlier out of her pouch and wiped her kunai clean again. "Piece of cake."

Hinata was shaking.

After sheathing the blade and cloth again, Temari looked over at Hinata with a smile. "That was some good work, Hinata-chan. I probably didn't even need to step in. I didn't know you could do stuff like that. Guess that was my mistake for judging a book by its cover, huh?"

There was no response. Hinata felt tremendously cold.

Temari frowned. "Hinata-chan? Is everything--are you okay?"

Hinata swallowed, coiling inward. "I-I'm fine!"

"But you're shaking," Temari said. She took a step towards the younger teenager. "Did you get hit?"

Hinata turned away, unable to look at Temari. "It's nothing. Please don't be concerned about me."

A long moment of silence elongated across the rocks, punctuated by the cool and irregular push of the wind. Temari seemed to have realized what was plaguing Hinata and she let her hands fall to her sides. She looked down at the deceased man. ". . . You know, I suppose I should apologize to you. I've kind of led you to believe that I'm something I'm not. I thought maybe we'd started getting along so I left it where it was, but I guess that was a mistake. But shouldn't you have training for this sort of thing? I guess life in Konoha must be pretty simple and carefree."

Hinata turned to look at her. "What?"

"Scared of me, Hinata-chan?" Temari turned to meet Hinata's gaze, her expression somewhat sad and resigned. ". . . You probably should be. I'm not a very nice person. I've done a lot of really horrible things. And I'm not sorry for them. That's part of being a kunoichi. That's part of _surviving_. You're really nice and I like you and everything, but you need to toughen your skin. The sooner the better. For your own sake."

"I don't. . . think I could ever make that easy," Hinata said, her voice very quiet. "I don't think I want to."

". . . Well, fine. If that's how you choose to live, I'm not going to criticize. But don't start looking at me like I'm someone else every time I kill someone. Otherwise we're never going to be able to be friends. I don't live like you do. I'm sure it works for you just fine, but--well, that's life. I can't be strong if I let myself be weak."

Hinata forced her hands to fall away. She took a few breaths, trying to calm herself. "I understand. And--And I'm. . . I'm sorry. But I just can't. . . I know I've been trained for this, but. . ."

"Hey." When Hinata looked up again, Temari was looking at her intently. "I told you I wasn't going to hurt you, didn't I? I'll look out for you. You're a good kid. You probably shouldn't even be a ninja, but you are. There's probably going to be a lot of times in your life where you're going to have to kill someone you don't even know. Take consolation in the fact that you killed someone who was trying to kill you and the people you care about." Temari stopped, and for a moment she looked confused. After that passed she sighed, scratching the back of her head. "And now I'm holding your hand, and I hate doing that."

"I'm sorry! It's just that you seemed like an entirely different person than before, and. . ." Hinata shook her head, control slowly returning to her senses. "It won't happen again."

Temari shrugged. "You're my friend. This bastard wasn't. End of story."

Hinata's sandals shuffled in the dead twigs. She tried to smile but failed. "I wish I could be as strong as you are. You. . . really know everything, don't you?"

After a moment Temari snorted, a faint grin crossing her lips. "C'mon. Let's go check on the others."

x x x x x 

"If this was all these people were capable of, I think it's safe to assume that Temari and Hinata are fine."

Gaara stood over the wrecked body, arms crossed as he waited for Kankuro to recall and re-bandage Karasu. In truth he had grown somewhat concerned while watching Kankuro's violent display that had nothing to do with ninja-esque precision and instead everything to do with primitive rage. But he was hardly one to lecture his own brother on how to control internal killing urges. Gaara could be called many things but a hypocrite was not one of them.

". . . Yeah," Kankuro agreed, his demeanor changed to reflect his much calmer state of mind. He was in the process of bandaging his hands, reconnecting the fibers to his marionette. He shook his head, serrated violet sizzling underneath the blanketed sun. "They're probably already making their way back to the boat by now. Damn, this sucks. When I signed up for this stupid mission, I wasn't expecting all this."

A shrill echo caught Gaara's attention. He frowned, turning to face where he perceived the origination. It was a very bizarre noise, like the internal crushing network of a steel refinery. Hardly something created within a sleepy forest. Metal contact resonated again, the delay and residual rebound indicating the noise was coming from a great distance away. Gaara focused intently as he strained to hone in on the sound again.

Kankuro looked at him. "Problems? What is it?"

A lingering feeling began to rise. Coils of dust reviving before the impact of a moon into frozen ground; an impossible cataclysm was looming, the premonition striking Gaara with great visceral force. Again the ethereal machinery hammered away at the sky. Gaara's joints tightened.

"I'm. . . not certain," he admitted. Ice-green eyes glanced across the clearing. "Something is off."

Kankuro gave Gaara an odd look. After which he kicked the dead shinobi for emphasis. "Well, can't be him. He's very dead. Maybe you're just imagining things? Let's just go."

Gaara wasn't quite convinced, but decided to comply without dropping his guard. ". . . Fine."

As he moved to turn, Gaara was ensnared.

Unlike most genjutsu it wasn't subtle. Instead of trickling into his thoughts, delicately rinsing over him until the world slowly changed to its whims, it _exploded_ through his mind, melting his consciousness as if he'd been struck by a solar wave from a collapsing star. Body and mind blown back into the origin vortex, his entire existence uprooted and ground to ashes. Reality fell away under some divine waterfall, colors and textures swirling into nothing. Sound rushed into his ears with a bestial roar, crashing into his brain with hurricane force. Gaara's hands clamped over his ears in a futile gesture as all noise originated from within, bludgeoning the surface of every sensation.

Eyelids were torn away. Skin ripped off by invisible clamps, forcing his eyes to forever observe the shifting vacuum. All the while Gaara could feel Shukaku stirring inside, a terminal eidolon rattling the spiritual cage, carnal and wrathful claws digging at the human prison. The familiar agony began to bloom in his chest, torture flowers opening to spread flames across his lungs, the footprints left behind every time his tenant grew restless.

After a few moments, everything vanished.

Gaara fell to his knees, a hand to his chest, gulping air as if declined of oxygen since birth. His eyes began to blink as his eyelids reformed, tears streaming down his face as moisture overflowed in a bodily overcompensation. The sensation had been merciless if not terse; trapped in the clutches of mental devilry, existence stretched across dark and purging instruments and then released like a nightmare. Waking sensations leaving only the fear and despair, the exact memories fractured and incomplete.

_What happened to me? _

When Gaara looked up, he frowned. Instead of a misty forest he was surrounded by ancient temple walls—archaic stones etched with hieroglyphs hidden from meaning by the shield of time. Dust collected on his hands at they touched the floor. He stood, sandals scraping the decayed marble.

"What the--how is this possible? A genjutsu?"

Gaara wasn't particularly susceptible to genjutsu. His mental fortifications were so concrete that most people trying to attack him through that method would instead suffer a furious rebound counteraction, damaging themselves more than they had intended to hurt _him_. This was due to the symbiotic relationship he possessed with Shukaku. And even were he trapped within a mental illusion, few people were capable of drawing such poignant barriers as to eclipse an entirely new reality. They existed, but were extremely rare.

Water flowed. A bamboo shoot cradled at the edge of a stream fell as its girth filled, releasing the clear fluid into the channel. It rose again, repeating the process. At the edge of the walls Gaara could see a small village. Sunlight pouring onto the hovel sleeping at some abandoned fold of time. There was an undeniable familiarity to everything, as if the teenager had at some point lived in this very place. Without realizing it, Gaara began to scour through his memories in an effort to find the source of nostalgia, and then the faces came.

Pleasant and continuous, forging images over existence as if his eyes were wired directly to them through some incredible machine. People he knew and did not know. Feeling their expressions of warmth spill into him in an unwanted caress. A sensation that was not a sensation. Motherly feelings, Fatherly feelings—things he _knew_ he had never experienced but felt so familiar and right that he _must_ have; tumbling through his wiry and barbed mind, people smiling at his pale and unfriendly face, reaching to him with innocent hands that were not insistent but instead touched gently at his thoughts. . .

Gaara shook his head. Dust shifted under his feet. He looked at his hands. "What's going on?" His eyes circled his immediate surroundings, sunlit grass and homes and ancient walls, but no Kankuro. He frowned, putting his hands together, trying to arrange his mind into a continuous beacon of concentration. "Focus. I have to escape this."

_("Don't be afraid. I'm simply destroying you.") _

Terror razed across him like scythes through wheat. His hands fell away as he took an inadvertent step back.

Eyes wide, Gaara looked into the sun where the voice had cascaded onto him. "That voice. . ."

Shukaku.

He then realized what was happening: the feeling of his enslaved demon was not one of internal struggle, but external attack. Somehow through the genjutsu Shukaku had broken his restraints and fled his jail, taken control of Gaara's entire psychology and was now turning his mind against him. Burning the solace and comfort of self in an effort to take free reign over Gaara's body. Tangible fear and discord hummed through him as he recognized the warm yet awful feeling.

Gaara was being erased.

Breathing picked up as Gaara's hands came back together. It was still his mind—_his_—and he would not allow himself to be subverted again. All of the murderous things that he had done, all of the bloodletting he'd derived pleasure from, all of the lives he'd gluttonously engorged himself upon came surging back. A flood of dark and bloody water rising from the village as the sun began to fade behind black-red clouds, the valley slowly sliding into the onslaught of ruin.

_("Here comes the water. . .") _

Blood rivers crashed up to the walls of the temple. Water began to flow over his feet.

_No! _

He couldn't let himself dissolve like this. Had Naruto given him nothing?

Gaara shook his head, trying to control the fear and retake his own mind. "I have to get out of this. . ." Hands came together once again. "I need to _focus_. . ."

Floods continued to spill over. None of the houses could be seen anymore. White caps crashed into one another, burning skies smoldering above icy mountains. The glyphs on the temple walls resonated a rosy light as the sound of the metal refinery began to engage again. Through it all Gaara tried to still himself.

_("Hey, come on, kid. Don't get so excited. Don't forget I'm here with you. What could possibly hurt US?") _

Burning cold sliced across his ankles. The water continued to rise, every essence of Gaara's own self cracking and disintegrating. In a dismantled realization Gaara acknowledged that he was forgetting things with every moment; memories burned clean, bleached from his mind as the black sun poured poison-rays onto him, the laughter of Shukaku a nihilistic thunder. Violet lightning sizzled electric fingers across the clouds, reminding him of his brother's face.

_Kankuro. . ._

That began to fade as the water reached his waist.

Gaara's breath came in jagged bursts. "Focus_focusfocusFOCUS_. . ."

What he had been before swelled up beneath the water. Those sensations, those cremated sympathies, those legions of misanthropy moved about him, brushing against his legs like sea serpents encircling its wounded prey. His heart began to seal. A cold stone rolled over the compassion and warmth he'd only so recently discovered, built into a cradle of wonderful memories and experiences, entombing them in the empty catacombs of nothingness. Temari, Kankuro and even Naruto, radiating the final visages of light across the swollen mess that was his life.

Everything stilled.

The maelstrom in Gaara's mind lessoned, ebbing away into a continuous and numb wave. Now entirely submerged, Gaara's hands fell away, floating in the murky water. Whatever remained of the light vanished as everything fell dark, Gaara sealed within his frozen underwater tomb. Only the meager light from the glyphs provided any illumination, and Gaara refused to look at them because he knew what they said. He floated as if in a dream.

_I can't. . . let him. . ._

Architect of disaster. Artisan of oblivion.

_("This is all you are. Soon there will be nothing left.") _

Gaara lost control.

x x x x x 

Kankuro grew immediately wary once Gaara's head drooped. The younger teenager's body seemed to wilt as if a sigh had blown through his skin, fleeing with all traces of life and leaving simply a carved husk. A series of warning surges began to fire off in Kankuro's stomach, fraternal senses thrashing awake with bony and edged limbs. Kankuro's hands drifted open allowing for slack on Karasu before he took a step towards Gaara.

"Hey, Gaara?' Kankuro tilted his head with a frown, looking down at the shorter teenager. "You alright? What is it?"

There was no response. Gaara simply wavered on his feet, eyes closed and a heavy and unnatural breathing pattern bulging in his chest.

Kankuro bit his lip, eyes beginning to roam across the clearing for hostiles. "Dammit, man. What's the matter with you?"

Within seconds he felt the invading chakra. Foreign and cruel tendrils of spiritual energy began to snake into his mind, spike-laden chains slithering over his thoughts with an eerie rattle. Before his world began to warp to its designs, however, Kankuro blasted his own essence back against the infiltrating chakra. After a sudden and brief contact Kankuro expelled the attempted attack from his mind. His dying adrenaline flared up again into a soaring cascade of flame, his arm flinging Karasu to the side as it unraveled, disappearing into the mist.

"Shit! Where's that coming from--trees!" Kankuro located the source of the poorly generated genjutsu, the suspected fourth shinobi having finally given himself away. Machinations of violence powered the salvo of his artillery. Chakra coils ran back to the trees on the opposite side, an invisible tracery leaving astral blueprints. "I knew it! Nice try, asshole! Now come down here and die like the pathetic dog you are!"

"No."

The word was dry, spoken from a throaty and primal urge. Gaara had suddenly reanimated, his hand then shooting out to shove Kankuro aside with a surprising amount of force. His head slowly rose to face the tree where the other ninja was concealed, his lips parting to vocalize a guttural rasp.

"Don't touch him. He's mine. . ."

Kankuro's eyes widened as he caught Gaara's face. Eyes opened to impossible limits, demon spheres resting in yawning cathedrals; mouth pulled back to reveal carnivorous teeth, salivating as if a hound possessed, clawing at closed steel gates to raze across a land of flesh. A cemetery of human emotion, all essence of compassion slain and perverted into a sadistic gateway to a dead universe.

As he regained his balance, Kankuro felt his limbs go numb. "Oh, _fuck_."

Gaara took a few steps towards the tree, an evil wraith wearing his face. "Well?" He spoke louder to the hiding ninja. His fingers began to twitch. "Come down, won't you? I won't be satisfied until I feel your skin tearing off between my fingers. I want to feel your blood on my hands. . . Are you listening? Can you fulfill this? Are you worthy enough to be this sacrifice?"

A voice as deranged as the previous shinobi punctured the heavy air. "You can't get away with what you've done! I won't let you leave here alive!"

"Your talk is worthless," Gaara replied, taking slow and steady steps towards the trees. His gentle footfalls were in contrast to the words he spoke. "I don't feast on words. I feast on you. Your soul. . ." His arms uncoiled and he spread them wide. "Come. Satiate my curiosity as I explore your ruined existence."

Horrible memories rampaged through Kankuro, fueling almost paranoid actions. He grabbed Gaara's shoulder and spun him around. He nearly balked at Gaara's glare. "Gaara--Damn, get a hold of yourself!"

Gaara smiled. "I know what I'm doing. Perhaps you'd like to see for yourself?" His grin widened as Kankuro took a step back, countering that with a step forward of his own. "Maybe if I just devour you first, then you might understand. In death you might finally realize what your worth is."

It wasn't the first time in his life that Gaara had threatened Kankuro. But it was different now. Before the threats had been genuine but somehow disconnected—Kankuro knew that if provoked enough his brother would kill him. But before it had never _hurt_ like this time. Gaara had changed, slowly becoming an actual brother. Slowly transforming into something Kankuro had always hoped for, taking an irreplaceable part of Kankuro's life. Kankuro's hands began to shake as he refused to look away from Gaara's eyes.

"Gaara--Gaara, listen to me. Okay. Listen. This isn't you. I don't know--fuck, I don't know what happened, but you've got to get a hold of yourself. This isn't _you_! You're not like that anymore. Remember?"

There was a pause and a deliberate shift in the murderous look Gaara was giving him. Irises softened and Gaara's smile fell. "Kankuro. . . I. . ." His hands flew to his head, covering his ears as if to close off some deranged noise that only he could hear. When he spoke his voice was almost vulnerable. "What's happening. . ."

Paranoia became concern. Kankuro swallowed heavily. "Oh man. Hang on."

Kankuro didn't waste any time. His hands dropped to his weapons pouch and retrieved several shuriken before leaping into the air and whipping them at the hidden shinobi. The spinning metal stars tore through leaves and small branches, scattering woodland components, before hammering into the thick bark. Driven from his location the shinobi took flight into the clearing, a fluttering of blue cloth emerging from the trees. He reached for his sheathed sword in an offensive dive towards Gaara, but Kankuro had been prepared for that.

Strong hands flexed, animating un-life. Spinning from the edges of the wood Karasu cut across the clearing, ragged cape billowing from self-created wind, joints swiveling as weaponry shifted into place. Articulates bent as steel became extended and exposed, a large and treacherous blade driven free underneath the marionette's arm joint. Kankuro made a brief motion with his index finger causing Karasu to twist in midair before making contact with the shinobi—hidden sword extended in a lateral slice, incision made in a vermilion-soaked haze.

A brief scream was heard as Karasu's weapon tore into the shinobi's waist, bisecting across his abdomen, before emerging in a wet spray that cut the man in two. Blood showered into the ruby mist as the man's halves spun midair, torso porpoising from the inertia before crashing into the rocks below, everything once again becoming very still. When Kankuro landed his attention was once again immediately on his brother who was now standing with his face in his hands.

Gaara looked at his hands, now bloody from the ninja killed above him. "Did I. . . lose control? Everything seemed to change. . . Was I asleep again?"

Kankuro took a few cautious steps towards the unsteady boy, making himself ready for anything. "Hey. You okay?" When Gaara looked up at him, the familiar green eyes that were aloof but still captured in a sleepy kind of emotion, Kankuro let out a sigh of relief. He rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly very tired. "You. . . Shit, Gaara. You scared the living hell out of me."

"I didn't mean to."

Kankuro shook his head, perturbed by the surreal folds of the situation. "Man. That guy was throwing genjutsu around. Maybe he got you on the inside? I felt it but I managed to dispel it."

Gaara looked rather shaken up. "That could be. But it felt. . . too strange to just have been that. It was something deeper."

The injured feelings from before remained in Kankuro's chest, so when he spoke again it was with difficulty. ". . . When you were. . . Damn. Did you mean any of—"

"_No_," Gaara said, with such force and sincerity that Kankuro almost felt overwhelmed.

After a few more breaths Kankuro gave a quietly concerned look at Gaara. "Well. As long as you're okay. Don't _do_ that, okay?"

Gaara nodded. ". . . I won't. I didn't mean for that to happen. I've never lost control like that before."

"This isn't. . ." Kankuro scratched his temple. "Man. This isn't something I can just brush aside, you know. This is kind of a major slip-up. Is this going to happen again?"

"No," Gaara repeated, sounding more certain of this than anything Kankuro had ever heard him before. "I won't let it. I'll be more alert next time." Gaara paused, carefully looking up at Kankuro. "Can--Will you not tell Temari?"

Kankuro didn't reply immediately. "I. . . might have to. You _threatened_ me, Gaara."

"I wouldn't let him hurt either of you. I'd never let that happen."

Kankuro knew that he should tell his sister. But Gaara was so sincere in his trust that Kankuro couldn't. He tried to convince himself of the logic, knowing that keeping the occurrence to himself could become a mistake in hindsight, but he couldn't make that matter. The confidence Gaara placed in him and the legitimacy of his promise made Kankuro overlook his transgression. It was strange, Kankuro felt, that he could make the most ruthless murderer he had ever known into something trustworthy. He wondered if that was what love did to people.

Looking away at the torso of the last shinobi, Kankuro sighed. ". . . I really should. But the stupid thing is I believe you. I don't know if it's because I _want_ to, or what. But. . . fine. I won't tell her."

"Thank you," Gaara said. "And. . . Sorry."

Kankuro nodded, following Gaara as he walked over to check to make certain both shinobi were deceased. As the two of them leapt back into the trees to make their way back to the others, Kankuro kept a close eye on his brother; shifting emotive landscapes unwilling to forget how it had hurt when Gaara threatened him, or how good it had been when Gaara had confided in him for what was probably the first time. Kankuro tried to convince himself that he was surprised when he realized he was less concerned for his own safety and more for Gaara's.

x x x x x 

By the time Temari and Hinata arrived back at the dispersal point, Kankuro and Gaara had already returned. Shikamaru and Kankuro stood off to the side as Gaara had activated a sand jutsu, standing with his feet spread in the damp mud, hands clutched in front of his chest. Quicksand mingled with the stones and perturbed soil, awash with various foliage from the river, churning underneath the deceased shinobi. Everyone watched quietly as Gaara's technique slowly pulled the body under the surface of the ground, effectively burying him and the bloody traces that he'd been there.

It would do nothing to stop pursuers from ascertaining his whereabouts if they were determined enough, but it was enough to prevent him being detected by average people that happened to pass by on boat. Leaving him out for the flies and wildlife to decompose or devour wasn't prudent given that he was clearly visible from the water, unlike the other three ninja that had been killed further into the forest.

As the swirling vortex of mud began to still, Hinata looked up at the others. "Is everyone okay?"

Kankuro was watching Gaara closely. "Yeah, we did okay. No problems. How about you guys?"

"Went pretty smooth," Temari said. She stood with her hands on her hips, looking downstream to where Shikamaru had beached their boat. "A few bumps but nothing too big. Our guy kind of went nuts on us for a little while."

Earth silenced, Gaara stepped out of his martial stance. He turned to face the others. "Ours too. I deduced they were all under the influence of some kind of genjutsu permanence. Perhaps their minds had been linked after being destroyed which is why they managed to travel together without killing each other."

Hinata recalled the way their target had attacked them hysterically, connecting the information sadly. ". . . That's awful. Even if they were our enemies, that's a terrible way to. . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. Water lapped at the edges of her sandals. "At least it's over for them now."

"Yeah," Kankuro replied. His fingers twitched along the edges of the bandage restraining Karasu. "We ran into the fourth."

Temari looked at him. "About that. You might want to double-check your source next time."

"Why?"

"Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that these two—" she said, pointing to Gaara and Shikamaru, "—found no information whatsoever after talking to almost everyone in that town, and then the small little information you manage to turn up winds up verifying an attack on us mere hours later?" Temari shrugged, fingers wiping a trail of sweat from the back of her neck. "Kinda fishy, don't you think? Whoever you got your info from was probably in on this. I bet he was planted to lead you towards this."

Kankuro frowned, his attention now fully captured. "Hey, don't badmouth that old codger, alright? There's no way he was in on this. I mean. . . what would he have to gain?"

Gaara gave Kankuro a careful look. "Are you sure of that? Can you guarantee his innocence?"

Kankuro held back a few choice words before saying, "No."

Hinata looked back and forth between the three siblings. She knew that there was no place for her in their disputes, so she was shrewd enough to refrain from intervening in their routine arguments. However she felt compelled to do so this time given what they were discussing. ". . . Maybe. . ." she began slowly, the three of them turning to face her. "Maybe Kankuro-san is right." There was an obvious surprise to all present, even from Kankuro. Hinata flustered at the attention. "W-Well, you see. . . he has a point. If he did offer information, why would he give specifics about who we were looking for? Wouldn't that make it easier for us to anticipate their attack? That is. . . given that he described their basic appearance, right?"

Kankuro gave Hinata an appreciative look but didn't comment.

Temari nodded slowly. ". . . Point taken." She turned then to look across at Shikamaru, who was staring blankly at the dirt covering the slain ninja. "Hey, leader-boy. You've been pretty quiet. What did you manage to get out of this guy?"

Shikamaru shook his head, seemingly in a daze. He looked up at her. ". . . Sorry, what?"

Kankuro snorted. "Hey, wake up. Nap-time comes later."

Temari took a step over to the shifted mud, kicking idly at a loose stone. "It looked like you had to get a bit rough with him. Did you get anything out of him before killing him?"

A moment passed as Shikamaru put his hands in his pockets. "I didn't. . ."

After he trailed off, the attention of the group foisted onto him. Wind shifted across the waves, inky water lapping at their footholds.

Shikamaru sighed, forcing himself to look at them. "I just finished him off. He killed himself, really. He suicided. He chewed through his own tongue."

Kankuro just gaped incredulously. "And you just sat there watching him. Did you give him pointers?"

Temari crossed her arms, giving Shikamaru a look that bordered on disappointment. "Yeah, I don't know. . . you didn't do anything?"

". . . No."

"Well that's just fantastic," Kankuro voiced, fingers roughly brushing against his forehead in an attempt to lesson his irritation. He threw a glare at their leader. "Do you even _want_ us to succeed? Hey, for the next enemy-nin we capture, are you just going to save them the trouble of using their teeth and hand them a cyanide pill?" His foot shot out, kicking a spray of mud and sand into the water. Miniature ripples ebbed across the moving surface. "Jeez. We handed this guy to you on a silver platter."

Energy slowly began to revive in Shikamaru's features, his passive face growing disgruntled. "It was. . . dammit, cut me some slack, alright? It happened really fast. I was trying to get what I could out of him and the next thing I know his jaw snapped shut. There wasn't anything I could do. So lay off. You weren't even here."

Kankuro took a challenging step towards the younger Leaf-nin. "You're right, we weren't. We shouldn't have to babysit our damn captain, sport. You're supposed to be able to do all this garbage without us holding your hand."

There was a poignant silence in the aftermath of Kankuro's accusation in that Temari didn't scold or reprimand him. She said nothing at all—an unvoiced indication that she agreed with Kankuro's assessment, enough so to belay bickering with him. Shikamaru had been expecting their disapproval and he knew he deserved it. Kankuro was right: he _should_ have done something, and they _shouldn't_ have to babysit him when he was supposedly in command. They all accomplished their tasks while he was the only one who had failed.

His fingers clenched into fists in his pockets. "Alright, fine. I screwed up. Maybe I should've acted faster. Maybe I was asking the wrong questions. But it's over now, so drop it. It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't happen again," Kankuro snorted. He looked over at Temari. "How can you trust this guy? Is he even capable of doing anything right?"

Temari sighed tiredly. "You running with a flawless record, Kankuro?"

Kankuro shrugged. "I'm not the one in charge."

"People make mistakes," she told him in a voice lacking scorn. She tilted her head back to look at the dulled sun. "Accept it and move on."

"Yeah, sure. But how many mistakes are acceptable?"

Both Hinata and Gaara stood off to the side, observing silently. Shikamaru smoldered; a minion of his memory marching through his cerebral plains, the feeling of a knife in his hand as he plunged it through a living man's skull running demented halos over his nerves. What was he supposed to do? What _could_ he have done? He was fairly confident he had made the right decision, but all the same the horrible skin of failure began to slide over him, a putrid caress reminiscent of a time when he'd nearly lost many of his closest friends.

The anger gave him sudden strength. "Do you want to stop talking as if I wasn't standing right here, maybe? Listen. There were extenuating circumstances. I wasn't counting on the presence of genjutsu warping their perceptions." Logic spun across his mind as he once again took control of himself. He took a step towards everyone. "And if it counts for anything, I'm not walking away from the experience empty handed. I did manage to get some information."

After Shikamaru's reprimand, Kankuro seemed to drop the grudge. He nodded. "Yeah, some. I got some too. There's no way that these guys are the people who attacked the carriers. It's just not possible."

"Going to have to agree with that," Temari said. She brushed a few stray twigs from the skirt of her garb. "These guys were way too amateurish. They were barely even Genin level ninjas. Even factoring in that the lot of us are probably at least Chuunin level ourselves, we shouldn't have been able to dispatch them so easily. I barely broke a sweat."

"Exactly," Kankuro agreed.

"You're right," Shikamaru confirmed. They all looked at him expectantly. "They weren't the attacking party."

"Who were they, then?" Gaara asked.

Shikamaru shrugged. "Isn't it obvious?" When no one countered that with an answer, Shikamaru spelled it out for them. "These guys didn't attack the convey: they _were_ the convoy."

Hinata's eyes widened. "Wh-What?"

Kankuro frowned. "How's that?"

"These guys," Shikamaru said, chucking a thumb to the makeshift grave poured overtop of the human remnants. He commanded their attention with a detached skill, not bending or contouring to their interest or attention. If nothing, he would at least try to maintain their respect. "They're the political renegades from Mountain Country that stole the documents. They were the ones that hired your people to protect them. They weren't _kidnapped_, they were mentally brainwashed and reprogrammed. And driven insane by some freakish genjutsu."

As Temari moved to speak, Shikamaru held his hand up to silence her. "But enough of that for now. Right now let's get a move on. I want to get away from here as soon as we can. Odds are we've got someone shadowing us, and it's not the intel-unit. So discussing this out in the open would be idiocy."

As one they all nodded in understanding. Slowly they dispersed and began to make their way over to the boat as it rested against the edge of the shore. There was a distinctly alternate atmosphere than before: a morbid cloak draped over them with invisible and cadaverous fabric, transforming what had been an average journey into a tense flight. Each of them seemed to carry an additional burden after the forest encounter, although they kept their psychological satchels concealed from one another.

Temari picked up the oar inside the boat and tossed it to Gaara. She smiled. "Your turn to drive."

x x x x x 

Hours after the forest encounter the group arrived at the roadside Inn. By then afternoon had dwindled into evening, mist vanishing as they traveled to the north, a sinking orange glow from the bloated sun raining across the gathering twilight. Temari stood in the room she was sharing with Hinata, pulling on a taut cord at the edge of the blinds to raise them over the window. Sunset collapsed into the room like molten rock draining through grooves of obsidian, winking a bright sheen across the hardwood floor. With a brief sigh the eldest of the group put her hands on the windowsill and looked out through the glass, vision crawling across the drowsy woods.

She was alone, were it not for Kankuro moving about on the other side of the room. He paid her no mind as he distractedly analyzed the articles given complimentary of the Inn staff: several bars of scented soap in a brittle but elegant paper wrapping, tiny bottles of shampoo, soft towels as well as a free edition of the local newspaper. He unscrewed the top of one of the shampoo bottles and gave a brief whiff over its rim, pretending he cared what it smelled of. After Temari had pulled him aside saying _We need to talk_, he decided it would be best for her to begin when she was ready to.

Even if he felt that waiting for her was tantamount to boredom.

After drumming her fingernails on the painted wood of the sill, Temari finally spoke. "What the hell happened out there?"

Kankuro put the shampoo back on the dresser. "What do you mean?"

She gave him a look through her reflection in the glass. "What do you _think_ I mean? That was a pretty easy encounter, you know. Those guys were pansies. They had no idea what they were doing. But everyone's all. . . weird. Haven't you noticed?"

"Everyone is always weird," Kankuro replied.

Temari rolled her eyes. "And here I say that as if you're not affected. You've been acting kind of strange all afternoon yourself. Did everyone get religion while we were out there? Because I feel like I've missed something here."

Kankuro didn't respond right away as he began opening the drawers of the clothing cabinet in a gesture to accentuate his aloof demeanor. ". . . Maybe you're the one who's going crazy. Wouldn't be a huge stretch of the imagination."

"Shut up. I'm serious. Even Shikamaru-kun is acting different." A few moments passed as Temari reflected on Hinata. The way she'd responded after being party to a man-slaying didn't speak of a seasoned or experienced killer. Shikamaru's atmosphere after the incident was also rather introverted; not that he was an outwardly person, but there was a definite internal darkness smoldering inside of him. Temari watched a trio of birds dive down and walk along the stone courtyard below her window. "You know. . . I think that our training diverged somewhere down the line. They were brought up really. . . different. Than we were."

Kankuro began stealing some of the towels, looping them under his arm. As he did he said, "Wow, that's some great detective work, Sis. You just noticing this now?"

"Jerk," she snorted. Her voice lacked malice as she gazed blankly outside. "That's not what I--okay, that is what I meant. But really. I think this was the first time they actually had to kill anyone. The way they've been acting would go a long way to explaining that."

"Great. They're sensitive wimps. I could have told you that."

Her eyes shifted to watch the reflection of him move behind her. "But that doesn't explain _you_. Both you and Gaara have been. . . off. All day. I don't know what happened, but it's annoying being kept out of the loop. So tell me."

Kankuro's voice was quiet as his motions slowed, stumbling over some internal mechanisms. "What makes you think anything happened?"

Temari turned, her hands falling back to hold the edge of the window as she faced him. "Please, don't insult me. Or yourself by wasting your time pretending. Gaara. . . alright. Fine, I can accept that. He's still--changing and all. I won't begrudge him that. But you. Even now, you're acting weird."

"I'm stealing your towels," Kankuro stated, folding more of the soft fabric over his forearm. He still wouldn't look at her. "How is that weird?"

A low growl escaped her throat. "You ass, pay attention to me!"

"What are we, six years old?" Kankuro remarked, his tone full of condescending surprise. After emptying Temari's dresser of towels he looked down at the pile in his arms, then across the room at the second set of drawers. "Hey, you think Hinata will mind if I take some of hers? These Travel-Inn places always have this really nice smell that's good to have when we're on the road."

Temari folded her arms. "Oh, right. My mistake. I forgot how urgently you need every toiletry and clean piece of cloth you can get your hands on."

"I don't--Hey! Hag."

The distance between them was purged as Temari took several quick strides across the room, pushing him with a small force into the wall. Kankuro's elbow banged against the corner of Temari's dresser, a pained wince pressuring his eyes. He contacted the wall with a heavy thud.

"Wh—Ow!" Kankuro managed to switch his grip on the towels so he could rub his elbow, glaring back at his sister. "You stupid bitch, what the hell!"

"Stop _playing_, Kankuro," Temari commanded. Orange rays traced the outskirts of her silhouette, shadows moving around her blank face. "Answer me."

Kankuro straightened, his hand still nursing soft movement against his elbow. He looked away. "Nothing happened. And even if it did, I wouldn't tell you. Okay? Now piss off."

"Why won't you tell me?"

A bizarre look crossed him, something akin to warmth but too blunted by sorrow to be affection. He let out a short, quiet breath. ". . . I promised him I wouldn't." Kankuro looked straight at Temari then, his eyes almost pleading. "He _confided_ in me, Sis. Do you--when was the last time he did that? Ever? I'm not a rat. I don't want to lose his trust, just like I wouldn't want to lose yours."

"That's a lot to assume. That you have my trust."

Kankuro swatted the air between them. "Oh, screw you. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," she admitted. She swallowed. "I--Yeah."

Both of Kankuro's arms wrapped around the towels, protecting them as if within a cradle. "Shit happens, you know? I'm not going to bail on him. So no, I won't tell you, because it's none of your business."

Temari frowned. "He's my brother too. How is it not my business?"

Kankuro took a deliberate step forward, forcing Temari to step aside and allow him leeway to move again. "You always act like _everything_ is your business. News flash. Everything isn't. If he really wants you to know, he'll tell you himself. Until that happens, I won't say anything. So stop bothering me about it because you'll just end up pissing us both off by pestering me."

He pushed his way around her then, his movement quick and agitated. Without looking at her he began to slide the drawers he left open on her dresser shut. Temari got the impression that Kankuro had said more than he'd intended, or admitted something he never wanted to. She knew him well enough to know that whenever Kankuro felt exposed he'd protect himself with an emotional armor forged in hostility.

She sighed. "You're such a tool sometimes."

He shrugged, pushing the lowest drawer closed with his foot. "Maybe. There are a few choice words I could use to describe you too, y'know. Don't act like you're all sunshine and springtime rain yourself. I feel sorry for Hinata, being shacked up with you for the whole mission. You're going to warp her impressionable mind with your wild and crazy ideas."

Temari let him change the subject. She crossed her arms again, giving him an arrogant look. "I see. So we should just let her hang onto you instead? That's a laugh. She already has enough self-esteem issues to deal with. Putting her in the same room as you would be like putting a wounded and bleeding dog in a tank of sharks."

"I'm a shark, huh." Kankuro paused, thoughts ruminating as a slight grin passed over his lips. "I kind of like the sound of that."

Temari snorted. "Leave it to you to miss the point of everything."

As she finished her sentence, Temari detected the now familiar feel of Shikamaru's chakra approach: a faint but persistent ebb across her spiritual attunements, soft pulses of sleepy irritation but also a knife-point sharp percipience resting underneath. She stepped away from the door as he came closer, plopping herself down at the edge of her bed as Kankuro continued to scavenge the room.

Seconds later Shikamaru stepped into the open doorframe. His knuckles knocked twice against the wood. "Hey, we're all done registering downstairs. You all settled?"

Temari nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

Kankuro turned from Hinata's side of the room and faced him. "Hey, their room is nicer than ours. What gives with that?"

Shikamaru took a step into the room to get a better look. His eyes widened as he took in its features, following the grooves in the floor and the soft red carpet in the center. ". . . You know, you have a point. We get saddled with the shabby armpit of the whole place and you guys--is that a walk-in bath?" A second glance to the far side of the room confirmed his suspicion as he caught the hollow echo of dripping water against polished tiles. He put his hands in his pockets and began to turn. "I'm going to change our rooms around right now."

Temari stood quickly, unpleased surprise stretching her eyes. "Don't! I already went and unpacked everything for both Hinata-chan and myself. I don't want to have to repack everything up and then unpack _again_. I'm too tired for that."

"Don't listen to her, man," Kankuro said. He gave Shikamaru a serious look. "Just get the rooms switched."

"Come on," Temari pleaded, in an almost subservient gesture. Both of the boys looked over at her as if she was someone else at the strange ache in her voice. "Please?"

Being someone that easily succumbed to guilt trips, Shikamaru caved with a sigh. ". . . Fine, fine. I'll leave it."

Kankuro shook his head disapprovingly. "Wuss. We had it made!"

Shikamaru shrugged, then settling down to business. "At any rate, Gaara and Hinata are waiting outside. There's a nice little clearing at the edge of the stone garden where we should meet up. It's at the crest of the hill overlooking the stream so it's easy to watch what goes around. I'm going to hold the meeting there. Be down by there in five minutes."

He didn't spare either of them a second glance as he left. Temari sat back down on her bed, mattress shifting with a quiet creak.

She grinned faintly. "Heh. No backbone at all."

"You snake," Kankuro said. By then he'd already taken all of Temari's towels and was making his way to leave himself. "That was pretty low."

Temari shrugged. "Well, I don't have to move, do I?"

"Feh."

Temari laughed. "Come on, let's go down there already. Oh, and Kankuro," she interceded as he was making his way beyond her to the door. She caught him by his arm, forcing him to turn and look at her. Blue eyes cut through the twilight. "Put my damn towels back."

Kankuro didn't move. "One of those choice words I mentioned earlier is 'stingy', y'know."

"That's great. Towels. Back. Now." Her posture didn't shift as he took a step back and ceremoniously opened his arms, dumping all of the now unfolded towels onto the ground at their feet. She arced an eyebrow. "Now which one of us is six years old?"

"Whine, whine," Kankuro replied, turning to leave. "Let's go."

Temari growled at his back as he left, muttering a variety of different curses as she bent down to clean up the mess. After she had gotten everything in order and both Shikamaru and Kankuro's chakras had moved some distance away as she had to strain to touch them, she sat back down on her bed again. In the solitude she stared at her shadow as the dying light shifted though its inky frame, an invisible black smeared across the floor. She rested her hands on her knees. Across the room she heard the water drip against the tiles.

". . . Trust, huh."

x x x x x 

A soft breeze curled through the screen door at the entrance to the Inn, bringing with it the smell of freshly trimmed grass and cooked meat from the restaurant just down the road. Fractured glows slipped between the wiry frame along the door, drawing geometric dots of heavy light along the carpet. As Shikamaru moved to walk through the door to meet with the others, the middle-aged clerk that had taken the team's registry waved to him.

"Um. . . Excuse me, Nara-san?"

Shikamaru pocketed his hands. "Uh huh?"

"I have a package for you," he informed the young Chuunin. The casually dressed man bent his knees and began to rummage about a small storage area underneath the horizontal desk as Shikamaru walked over. He spoke while he shifted various documents and packages about. "It actually arrived yesterday in the evening. There's no return address on the envelope, so I can't say whom it's from."

"That's fine."

After a moment, the clerk made a cheerful noise and lifted a peculiarly shaped object up onto the wooden counter. Jagged features spiked out underneath a white plastic bag, much like an oversized pineapple. With a swift motion the clerk flipped a utility knife open and delicately sliced the plastic concealing the object until it unraveled in a white and crinkly mass at the base of—now that Shikamaru could see—a green pot.

A tropical plant sat there before them.

Shikamaru blinked. ". . . Okay."

x x x x x 

Behind the Inn was a public garden, made from stone carvings and fashioned into a simplistic labyrinth. Hedges aligned the stones into an amalgam of both natural growth and unnatural placement, several streams of fresh water bisecting pathways through the twisting rocks and shrubs. At the edge of the garden was a steep incline leading down into the woods, the hillock crested by a stone dais constructed to overlook the Inn and the forest from a slight elevation. Both Hinata and Gaara waited on the dais of cobblestones, Hinata standing and overlooking the forest while Gaara sat on a bench carved meticulously from a granite slab.

Soft and cool breeze brushed Hinata's face. "It's very pretty here," she said quietly. "I've never been this far into Earth Country before. . . I had always been under the impression that everything was rocky and barren." Glass eyes observed the sway of the trees; dreamy green canopies tinted a sinking glow from the setting sun. Everything colored the same shade. "I'm glad I was wrong."

Gaara looked over at her. "It's very rocky and barren in Wind Country. Are you implying that it is inferior because of that?"

Hinata blinked. "Um. . . No!" She turned around, her very posture apologetic. "No, of course not. I didn't--I mean. . . I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he told her. He met her eyes impassively. "I was kidding."

Being the product of a stern environment herself, Hinata wasn't very adept at recognizing sarcasm. She didn't have a very developed sense of humor, though she was capable of appreciating others' jokes, such as her teammate Kiba. But Gaara wasn't anything like the spirited boy she had trained with. Hinata was utterly incapable of discerning any kind of emotional leniency from Gaara, so it certainly didn't _sound_ as if he'd been joking. He didn't seem the kind of person who would ever indulge himself in levity.

An old anxiety crept up her nerve ladders. "Oh. Even still. . . I shouldn't have—"

Gaara shrugged. "Why not? I don't care what your preference is."

Hinata swallowed, giving a brief nod. "R-Right." In the last few days she had slowly grown accustomed to Gaara's presence, but when she was alone with him her earlier paranoia would begin to revive. It took great effort to smother the fear, and she wasn't entirely successful. A cool wind met with the back of her neck, brushing the strands of her hair. "I'm sure your country is very beautiful too. I haven't been there, so I can't say myself."

Gaara said nothing. He shifted slightly on the bench before giving an almost inaudible smirk. ". . . I really make you uncomfortable, don't I?"

Hinata bit her lip. "No."

He looked off at the horizon as light collapsed. "I understand. You're not the first."

"It's not. . ." Hinata paused, not really sure how to articulate what she felt in a way that wouldn't leave her exposed. "You don't. It's not you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," she insisted, her voice neither insolent nor assertive. Her hands came together, eyes falling to the ground and tracing the smooth edges of the dais. "It really isn't you. . ."

". . . I did some terrible things to your country. It's in your every right to hate me."

Hinata shook her head. "I don't! I never did. I never felt that way about you. Even if you don't believe me. You're just so. . . different than me." She flinched as she tried to reconcile the words she had spoken with what she'd intended, realizing they were entirely separate things. Even if he was apathetic to how she felt, she still wanted him to understand that she really didn't hate him. "That's. . . not a bad thing. I didn't mean I think you're. . . that it's wrong you're not like. . ."

Gaara's voice was accusingly soft. "You don't have to be nice."

Her shallow breathing drifted in the twilight between them. ". . . I want to."

"Why?"

"Because," she said. A memory returned to her from months ago; a frivolous encounter with Kurenai-sensei that held no emotional meaning or definitive poignancy. But that was what made it significant: Kurenai-sensei's very presence was something reassuring and admirable to Hinata, a personality and posture that she wanted to emulate. Kurenai was one of the very few people Hinata felt she could talk freely to, moreso than her teammates or family or Naruto. She tried to envision Kurenai standing beside her as she spoke. "I. . . I don't know. . . Because you--I was afraid. Scared of you for so long. I feel that I have to, otherwise. . ."

"You should never stop being afraid of me." Gaara's eyes were utterly vacant. Devoid of malice or trickery, purged of hostility and apprehension. They indicated a certain exposure, a kind of honesty that Hinata wasn't sure she could comfortably interpret. He meant her no harm when he said, "That fear will make you alert and ready in case you need to react immediately."

"Are you--I don't understand. Why?"

"It doesn't matter why. Just don't lose that fear. Cherish it. Don't let it take you over, but stop feeling obligated. You don't have to pretend."

Hinata couldn't understand. Did he want her to hate him? Was that what festered in the distance between them? Her voice felt heavy on her throat when she spoke. "How can you. . . you just say that? Why do you want me to be that way around you?" She took a few shaky steps to one of the granite walls along the dais and leaned against it. Legs bent and fabric shifted as she slowly slid to the ground, tucking her knees to her chest. "I know we barely know each other, but. . . I hope you don't think it's presumptuous of me to talk this way with you." She looked over at him. "But you've changed. . . you aren't the same person as before."

Gaara blinked once, slowly. "Is that what Temari said?"

Non-physical shivers scattered under her skin. ". . . Yes. But that's what I've seen, too. You. . . haven't you?"

"I don't know."

That was not the answer Hinata had been expecting. But then she realized it was reasonable: there were many questions he could ask her in return about her own life that she would not have an answer for. Dry lungs gave a heavy expansion with each breath, her chest tightening like a vice of bone and sinew. Merely speaking to Gaara was a physically taxing endeavor. That fear made her lonely.

She attempted to be positive, mostly for her own sake. "You have. I. . . I can see it. Maybe it's not how--I think--Um. . ." Hinata cut herself off, knowing that she was stumbling. "I want to be friends. . ." she admitted, knowing that even though she was afraid of him it was still a truth. She thought over the last few days, thinking of him and his actions, finding nothing at all that was cruel or manipulative. She looked down at her calloused fingers. "You're a good person."

Gaara didn't respond immediately, though if he had been surprised he didn't show it. Hinata thought that she could hear the shifting of his sands in the silence that arrived, muscles coiling into frigid batteries that ached with anticipation. But then she listened and heard nothing. She thought of Kurenai. She thought of Naruto. She thought of Temari. She thought of all the people she considered to be strong, trying to hold on to something precious from each of them but not knowing what that something was.

Eventually Gaara spoke. "You say that even though you're scared of me right now."

Her knees curled in tighter. ". . . Yes."

"During the exam, when you were hiding," Gaara said, Hinata's eyes widening as she realized that he had _known_ from the moment they met days ago outside of Naruto's apartment that she had been there. That every moment that had gone by since then, he had known she was the one that had seen him kill. His voice continued through her maelstrom. "If it hadn't been for Kankuro. . . I would have—"

"But you didn't," Hinata interrupted, the words coming out too fast and wrong.

"But I would have. I wanted to." He gave her a significant look. "Can you live with that?"

Hinata folded her hands together, looking at them, tiny swans intermingling like feathery plumes. She looked as fragile as she felt. "Would you. . . kill me now? As we sit here?"

He didn't answer.

After he didn't, Hinata forced herself to continue. ". . . That's why I think you've changed," she murmured. "It's my fault for--not being able to. . ."

She didn't finish. Silence fell again, broken only by the irregular sigh of the wind as sunken violet began to stretch across the east as twilight slowly eclipsed the sky. Earlier terrors came to her as old memories: the way her hands had felt as she touched the shinobi's body, his life fading with every contact; the way his eyes had pleaded without words for some kind of help, her aid coming in the form of death; the frenzied and malevolent grin Temari had become swept within as she tore his life away; the knowledge that those kinds of acts and those kinds of faces were supposed to be acceptable and no matter how often she thought of that, nothing could reconcile morality with reality.

Skin touched cold rock.

"I need to be stronger," she said. When Gaara didn't respond, Hinata realized she was grateful for his silence.

x x x x x 

Fifteen minutes thereafter, both Kankuro and Temari had arrived. Kankuro came meandering along just after Hinata and Gaara came to realize they had nothing else they could communicate, Temari following a few minutes after that. Quiet moments were impregnated with an awkward atmosphere, all four of them confined to the prison of their own thoughts. Kankuro sat across from Gaara atop a stone ledge, his heels tapping an irregular rhythm against the rock as he stared blankly at the billowing darkness. Temari stood next to where Hinata was sitting on the ground, leaning against the ledge with her arms crossed.

Seconds became minutes. It was Kankuro who broke the silence.

"This seems awfully familiar," he spoke, angular face barren of the annoyance he felt. "Is this guy even aware of the concept of punctuality?"

"Yeah," Temari agreed, her eyes downcast as she ruminated on subjects she felt were private. "Who knows what happened. He might've gotten into some kind of trouble." Her foot scraped against the rock and she frowned. "Give it another minute then we should probably look for him."

Kankuro sighed. "That's strike two. Two in one day."

There was a distinct lack of passion in both siblings interchange, a mutual lethargy draped over each of them for separate reasons. Kankuro wasn't particularly angry as he might have been under different circumstances, his disconnection representing an almost boredom with the very concept of emoting. Temari, being a slightly more internal person, was more difficult for the others to read, but both of their behaviors were noted by Gaara and Hinata.

Hinata ran the pad of her thumb over her index fingernail, unaware that she was even doing it. Of the group she was especially removed; a figurine fashioned from ethereal jewelry, existing only due to a ghostly silhouette to represent physical form. When her head twitched suddenly, Temari caught the movement from the corner of her eye, noting the anxiety in Hinata's monochrome eyes.

". . . He's coming," Hinata said.

Kankuro frowned, looking out over the garden towards the Inn. "I can't see him. How can you tell?"

They had to strain to hear her voice, a suppressed and almost hoarse whisper. "Shikamaru-kun asked me to set up barrier wards around the perimeter of this location so we wouldn't be disturbed. They're attuned to my chakra, so. . ."

Temari nodded, catching the shadow moving through the falling dark. "Yep. Here he is."

Shikamaru touched down in the center of the group, his feet lightly contacting stone almost without sound. He held his hand up.

"Yo."

None of them were particularly happy to see him. Temari gave him a blank look. "Late again. That's twice in a row, now. Maybe you should start carrying an alarm clock around with you. Or some stick-it notes."

Shikamaru shrugged, taking a seat on the bench beside Gaara. "I was waylaid." As he sat down, his hands flipped open a pocket on his Chuunin vest, withdrawing a small scroll from within. He spun the rolled pages atop his index finger. "Our intel-unit made contact just now."

Kankuro blinked. "No shit," he said, turning to look around them for another person. "Where are they at?"

"They didn't contact me personally," Shikamaru replied. He had thought the scroll was an obvious enough explanation, but then he figured he'd actually have to open it for them to see to understand what kind of scroll it _was_. Instead he simply dropped the object back into his vest pocket. "I received something from them. But before we get into that--Hinata?"

Hinata didn't look up at him when she spoke. "I put up four wards at each of the polar points. I used a prism labyrinth genjutsu as part of their structure, but my training in wards is still very basic. The effect can be easily dispelled as long as someone recognizes the chakra. . . but it's the best I can do. I'll know if someone comes within the perimeter at least."

Shikamaru nodded. "Then it's good enough."

Now that they had fully gathered, Temari sat down next to Hinata. She crossed her legs. "So what's up for discussion? The guys that attacked us earlier? You said they were the couriers?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. He gave a brief look around the party, realizing that he had their attention. He leaned forward, interlinking his fingers in his lap. "First, let's talk about what we know so far. A little over two weeks ago the National Treasury Bureau in Mountain Country was broken into during a public conference. What was stolen was a small collection of sensitive documents by people being believed to be rebels and renegades. Not sure how they managed to escape the country, but they did, along with the missing files. That much is certain."

Kankuro rubbed at his sore elbow. "Right. We knew this part already. They made contact with Suna after that."

Shikamaru shook his head. "Not necessarily. There is a five or six day lapse in their timeframe where they fell off the radar. Secretary Kurama has admitted he doesn't know where they were in those few days, and no one is capable of collaborating information. It's also worth noting that the three assassinations took place around the same time. . . those public figureheads were all found dead after pursuing units lost track of the renegades but before they showed up again in Wind Country. No one knows what happened to them at the moment."

"Is that still a loose issue?" Gaara asked, pupils capturing the younger leader from the perimeter of his sockets. "If they were on the move, they couldn't have played a hand in those killings."

"Right," Shikamaru agreed. "It's unlikely, but it's a notable coincidence anyways."

Temari had been connecting various strings in her thoughts, making an effort to piece together what limited information she already knew. "And then they made some phony contract with our superiors after that. I'm still a little bit reserved on that point. What was the need to counterfeit? They could have taken out a legitimate contract for an escort. Even if they were fugitives from a separate country they would be granted immunity because of our involvement. And we'd still fall under the neutrality blanket until the contract was complete so there wouldn't be any reprisals from Mountain against Wind." She shrugged as soft wind brushed her hair across the stones behind her. "Seems pretty stupid they'd go out of their way to screw with us when they really didn't need to."

"But they did. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Kankuro shifted on his perch. "How's that work, exactly? You told us we had prerogative to assist."

Shikamaru nodded, looking up at the seated Sand-nin. "You did. But would you have turned the request down? Think about it. The Suna/Konoha alliance is still fresh and potentially unstable given such recent violence between the two. By making a faulty claim that could be dismissed you were presented with a position of powerlessness. If the contract would have been real, you wouldn't need to have come along because it would have fallen outside of your jurisdiction. But since it was fake that was Sand's blunder for not recognizing it and because of that placing some of the responsibility on your own shoulders."

He took a moment to gauge both Gaara and Temari's reaction before continuing. "They forced your hand. You didn't have to participate, but they knew you would because of social obligation."

There was a loose scrape as Kankuro's heel kicked against the wall. He snorted. "Those kind of tactics piss me off."

Shikamaru swatted at a bug that was buzzing around his hand. "Yeah. Worked though, didn't it? You're out here working for them via an actual and legitimate contract now."

Kankuro shrugged, not entirely convinced. "Maybe. But why can't we just disregard the request since the contract was proven fake? Seems kind of stupid to me."

"I just told you," Shikamaru sighed. He was coming to learn that it was oftentimes very troublesome being in a position of leadership because it required thorough interludes of explanation and discussion with his charges. He didn't like having to explain a situation, let alone having to do it multiple times for people who didn't immediately grasp the concept. "Your international image required you to smooth over your mistake at failing to discover the fake by assisting Konoha. And since they were threatening Konoha with exposing diplomatic indifference at a time when the relationships between the hidden villages are already really sore, Hokage-sama felt that she had to take the contract. Otherwise Kurama would start up with the propaganda and all. That would be bad for business."

"That's fine and good and all," Temari interjected, her intelligent voice bathed in subtle disbelief. "But how do you figure those guys who attacked us earlier were the dweebs from Mountain? Yeah, they might have been poor excuses for ninjas. But they were still _ninjas_. Maybe they sucked, but they still had enough skill to be above an ordinary civilian from a country that has no hidden village within hundreds of kilometers. The guy we fought had some mist jutsu thing. Didn't help him much in the end, but that kind of thing takes training."

"Missing-nins," Shikamaru said.

Kankuro make an incredulous noise. "Bullshit."

"Nope. Secretary Kurama is one, too."

Gaara frowned, arms crossing over his chest. "How do you figure that?"

"I don't figure," Shikamaru told them. He started flipping open the pocket on his vest again. "I know. I had my suspicions earlier, but. . ." He withdrew the light scribe of cloth and plastic, resting it neutrally on his knee. "Our benefactor has been tailing Kurama Nagare for the last three days. When we link up with him tomorrow night he'll be able to explain everything better, but his summon dog just gave me a bit of information that he's collected."

For the first time, Hinata looked up. She blinked slowly, her face pale and tremulous. Sweat beaded her forehead. "Summon dog? You mean. . ."

Shikamaru nodded, his index finger then running over the white gauze bandage wrapped over his thumb. "Yeah. Pretty clever by him. He sent us a pseudo-summon scroll henge'd as this really ugly plant." The others then noticed his recently wrapped finger, understanding then the significance of his absence. "So looks like our unofficial team member is Kakashi."

Gaara sat up. "That man."

Kankuro blinked, looking down at his brother. "Wait, _you_ know that guy? When did this happen?"

". . . Not well, but I have spoken to him on a few occasions," Gaara answered slowly, almost reluctantly. "Once when. . ."

A moment of realization passed through Kankuro. "Ah, one of your 'visits' to that other brat, huh."

Gaara nodded. "He is. . . respectable."

Temari pivoted her look from Gaara to Shikamaru. "Is he?"

She knew the moment the words had left her mouth that it was a foolish question. The very scroll that Shikamaru held in his hands was proof of that. Drawing a pseudo-summon scroll took incredible chakra control and understanding. In addition to that, it also required very high favor with ones summon creatures in order to scribe a one-shot instant-summon for someone who did not hold a contract of blood with the beasts. In fact, there weren't a lot of people in the world capable of that kind of reverence within their respective summon clans.

Shikamaru answered anyway. "Can't say I know him very well, but. . ." He shrugged, scratching his temple as wind rustled briefly through his hair. "Yeah. If we're going to be saddled with anyone watching our backs, we could have done worse. A lot worse. At any rate. . . Kakashi has ascertained that Kurama is a missing-nin. From what village is still up in the air, but it's a fact."

Temari saw the ambiguity of that answer. "That creates a whole lot of other factors, then."

Kankuro nodded, coming to the same conclusion. "Yeah, I see what you mean. That eliminates Suna and Konoha from his list of possible origins, right? He'd have to have totally lost it to step back into his native village after being declared a missing-nin."

"Exactly," Shikamaru said, putting the scroll away once again then taking effort not to rub at his sliced thumb. "And that also means he can't be in the Bingo Book either, since he would have been arrested the moment he set foot in either of our own villages. All this really adds up to is that he has sources outside of his own country. Dunno who they are, but that's the way it looks."

Hinata coughed gently, wincing from a sudden pain in her throat. Ignoring that, she spoke again, her voice a frail leather of sound. "So. . . why did they attack us, then? If I understand all this correctly, they want us to help them, right? If that's true, why would they try to kill us?"

"Aside from the fact they were completely insane," Kankuro remarked. He looked over at Gaara. "Genjutsu, wasn't it?"

Gaara nodded. "That's what I detected. But for one so potent as to last for multiple days, as well as guide them along a path that had some semblance of uniformity. . ."

"Yeah," Shikamaru agreed. He sat back, hands resting against his legs. "That's just crazy. We're talking about illusions on levels I don't even want to think about."

Kankuro looked off at the nearly disintegrated horizon. ". . . It makes sense."

"What does?" Temari asked.

He shrugged, gaze still far off in the violet-black. Stars began to writhe within retreating tide of sunlight. "This. You know. That they were hit with some freakish mind attack. That's what happened to Baki-sensei, remember? It didn't drive him insane, but it really wiped his mind. Whoever or whatever hit those guys with that attack thing hit Baki-sensei, too."

"Meaning that the assault was indiscriminate," Gaara said.

Hinata rubbed her throat gently under her forehead protector. "Why would Kurama-san do that to his own people?"

"He didn't," Shikamaru told her. "The attack on the carrier was expected, but not planned. Kurama and his people knew that they were going to be attacked, but that was the end of their involvement. My guess is that they totally underestimated the strength of the attackers."

Skywaves shimmered in an incorporeal flicker. The makeshift barrier Hinata had constructed gave off soft pulses that were imperceptible unless one was looking for them specifically; rainbow blades turned to catch the sinking sun, myriad colors scattering once perceived as if they'd never existed. Almost electric, time seemed to halt in the distilled quiet—wind dying, bodies undisturbed, nothing moved. It was very surreal. Like a water painting bruised as if the canvas was skin.

Kankuro caught the chakra, a sudden spiral of aurora fire, and then emptiness. He looked into the stopped time as if resigned to an unstated fate. "So where does that leave us exactly? I don't want to just sit around and twiddle my thumbs waiting for us to get hit."

"That's a good point," Temari said, slowly bringing herself back onto her feet. Her movement was a cacophony of noise in comparison to the statuesque calm. Her fan made a metal scrape against the stone as she leaned back. "If those Mountain guys were attacked by someone who really wanted them dead or whatever, it's pretty safe to assume that we're going to be walking targets too."

Shikamaru knew that was what he would have thought if he were in their position. But he possessed information they didn't so he was certain that wasn't the case. However, since he couldn't actually physically confirm the information until he spoke directly to Kakashi, he couldn't base a solid argument against her observation. "That's . . . unlikely," he said, hesitation obvious in his tone. "The attack was carried out in an effort to retrieve the documents. We don't have them."

Gaara shook his head. "But we were still attacked all the same. Even if we weren't the intended enemies of our attackers, they still must have possessed some kind of structure to their thoughts to seek us out. If the genjutsu really brainwashed them into attacking us, I think it'd be prudent to expect other hostilities."

Deciding that discretion would be the more valid half of valor, Shikamaru relented to their concern. "Yeah. . . Alright. That is a good point. If anything that would just go to show what a troublesome guy Kurama is."

Temari nodded. "Yeah. Sounds like he's the devil everyone knows. Not even his own country wants him." She paused, thinking over what had been shared a few moments before. "But then I guess that's not even his real country. So that kind of makes sense."

Hinata lay her hands flat against her knees. "So. . . what should we do?"

"Nothing," Shikamaru said. "Keep moving forward. Just keep a good lookout at all times so we don't get any unwanted surprises." Memory returned to him with a frown, and he cursed himself for his atypical lack of insight. His encounter earlier in the afternoon had jarred his mental processes and he was still trying to salvage the emotional wreckage. "Damn. Now I'm kicking myself for using our names in the registry."

Being perceptive, Temari was both understanding and forgiving of that slip. "There's not a lot of housing going on out here. If someone is really determined to find us, they're going to, fake names or not. We'll just have to keep watch even when we're indoors."

Shikamaru looked tiredly into the dusk. "Yeah. That's--Yeah. Best thing we can do right now." He yawned, eyes closing as his body ached with exhaustion. He let out a sigh, forcing himself to refrain from slumping while in the company of his team. "Okay, I guess that about covers what needed to be said. If anyone else has anything they'd like to add?"

"Yeah," Kankuro spoke, body straightening with sudden energy. "You're going to meet with Kurama now, aren't you?"

"Uh huh."

Kankuro hopped off the ledge, placing his hands in his pockets. "I'm coming with you."

Shikamaru's brow rose. "Why?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"Yeah, I'd rather do this without violence and you'll just aggravate the situation."

Kankuro just shrugged, deciding not to take offense at what was probably a fair statement. "Tough. I'm going."

After everything, Shikamaru was hardly in the mood to initiate an argument with the surly Sand-nin and thus relented with a sigh. ". . . Fine, do whatever. Just try not to kill him if he says something annoying, alright?" He stood then, wincing briefly at how stiff his joints felt even though he'd only been seated for a short time. He addressed the others. "Guess we'll be going now then. See you guys later."

The magenta dusk shuddered against the rainbow-fire for a fragmentary second. Shikamaru and Kankuro both stepped off the dais and began heading back through the stony garden, neither of them speaking to the other. Inky shadows came with the birthing night, wind cooling as it resumed its invisible flow. Gaara stood after Shikamaru and Kankuro had left. He looked to be in deep thought, and then instead of saying anything he simply allowed the cyclonic sand to envelop him, stepping into the temporary dimension of teleportation. Hinata and Temari were then alone.

Fireflies winked midnight embers. A few minutes elapsed as neither said anything.

Hinata then struggled to stand, body resisting like faulty and spastic machinery. Her hand slid across the stone surface of the ledge, scraping a thin layer of skin from her palm. Blood wasn't drawn, but a soft rosy blemish scarred her otherwise pallid skin. She winced, understanding that it wasn't simply exhaustion or mental conflict that was weaving a sudden sickness within her. Her body felt cold and barren, skin wintry palaces while her head burned a painful glow within her skull. For a long moment she stood with her hand against the ledge, not moving.

Temari frowned. "Hey. . . You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Hinata replied.

Inwardly Temari sighed at the obvious fabrication. Outwardly, she said, ". . . Alright. You look kind of pale, though."

Hinata's hand then fell to her side as she gave a weak smile. "I'm. . . always pale."

Temari didn't laugh. "True enough."

Timid fingers reached up and captured the strings for her hood, holding them in an absent gesture. Hinata looked away from Temari then, over to the Inn. ". . . I should go and turn off the wards now. I. . . think I'm going to go to bed then." She gave Temari a friendly look, though it was blunted by weakness. "I'll see you tomorrow?" She blinked, then remembering what had been mentioned by the others a few minutes ago. "Oh. I forgot we had to switch off watches. Um. . ."

"I'll take the first watch," Temari offered, giving Hinata a very indiscriminating but neutral glance. "Go get some sleep then."

Hinata nodded and then left. Temari stayed for a short while after that by herself, sitting on the ledge watching as the final visages of light disappeared behind the forested horizon. Once darkness and stars consumed the sky, she stood and returned to the Inn.

x x x x x 

Lights from within the restaurant filtered into the night with a rinsed golden flicker, lanterns projecting miniature suns through the murky glass. Both Shikamaru and Kankuro had made their way down the beaten road without a word to each other, simply guiding themselves towards the flame beacon as it slept within the forest. Darkness had fallen completely; wood-smoke lit a dim brown as it rose from the firepit at the rear of the establishment. Silhouettes could be seen moving through the windows, a rowdy life within contrasting the stoic tranquility of the surrounding countryside.

Ten feet from the door, Shikamaru stopped. Kankuro copied him, turning to face the younger team captain.

"Look," Shikamaru started. His sandals shimmied through the loose dirt. "Before we go in, I just want—"

Kankuro snorted. "You're not going to make me swear to be on my best behavior, are you? Aren't you a little young to be my Mother?"

Shikamaru crossed his arms. "Yeah. That's exactly what I was going to have you do. Maybe you think it's patronizing. Well, too bad. I don't care. We both know you're just waiting for an excuse to slit this guy's throat, and--why am I taking you again?" A moonlit frown painted his face. "You should just go back to the Inn and wait."

"Don't even bother trying that," Kankuro replied. He stood his ground. "I'm going with you."

A brittle crash crinkled through the starlight as someone from the restaurant staff threw more wood onto the pit fire at the rear. Shikamaru's face appeared for brief moments in the orange pulse. ". . . No. I changed my mind. Go back, Kankuro. I'll pull rank if you don't."

Kankuro glared, his disgust at the sudden resistance obvious. "Hey, bright-boy. I'm not going in for him. You're right, I think this guy is a snake and I'd gladly kill him and dump the body somewhere if the opportunity presented itself. But that has nothing to do with me being here."

"Then why?"

"I thought you were smart? Figure it out."

Shikamaru didn't have to ruminate long. ". . . If you think you're going to _supervise_, I really will pull rank on you."

"Tell you what," Kankuro commented offhandedly, placing his hands in his pockets. The mixture of ruby and chrome waves against the violet patterns on his face made him seem a bio-totem: a physical spirit of cynicism and doubt, a quasi-guise of a higher being making ire-driven equations regarding the world around him. "You start doing things right and maybe--_maybe_--I'll start giving a shit about your opinion. So far you have done absolutely nothing that gives me reason to believe you're going to handle our lives properly. Even Hinata performed better than you did today. I was wrong about her, but I was spot-on about you, champ. So I'm coming in with you whether you want me to or not."

Shikamaru wanted to ask him what he should have done. What a seasoned killer such as Kankuro—or, at least, what Kankuro claimed to be—would have reacted to. But he would never allow himself that kind of vulnerability to someone who distrusted his every action.

"That was--you just. . ." He sighed, realizing that there was probably no way he could logically convince Kankuro to simply leave. "Fine. I'm putting this in my report."

Kankuro shrugged, clearly apathetic to Shikamaru's threat. "You do that. I'm sure that when our superiors read how much of a fuck-up you've been, they won't be stepping over themselves to reprimand me over being concerned about the safety of our unit." Without waiting for a response he turned and walked towards the door. "Now let's get this over with."

Filing the encounter into his cerebral cabinets, Shikamaru let the issue drop. There were many things he wanted to say, or he could have said, but all of his responses seemed inadequate in the face of critical dismissal. It would do no good for him to try and lead the group with Kankuro hovering around his shoulders, an ubiquitous phantasm reaching with cold and bony hands to grasp at all his ideas and actions until they shattered from its ghastly scrutiny.

The only way to rid himself of Kankuro was to play along. So he did.

As the two teenagers stepped inside, they were met with a warm and boisterous atmosphere. To their left was a bar where large companies of travelers had convened, speaking to each other in friendly shouts and riotous laughter. They both removed their sandals at the landing, placing them symmetrically parallel to the other footwear. Scanning the slightly more subdued right side—an architecture of tables, chairs and booths—they both made perfunctory glances in search of their contact. Kankuro spotted the politician sitting with his back to them at a booth on the other side of the restaurant.

He pointed and Shikamaru nodded. A waitress approached them with a set of menus but Kankuro waved her off with his hand, indicating they didn't need to wait to be seated. She gave the Sand-nin a somewhat irritated glance at his dismissal, but they were already weaving through the throng of chairs and tables. Without ceremony they slid into the booth across from Kurama.

Kurama looked up from his soup with a friendly expression. "Ah, good evening Nara-san. Kankuro-san."

"Yeah," Shikamaru replied. "Hey."

Kankuro said nothing.

Kurama wiped at the edges of his mouth with his napkin. "Would you like me to flag a waitress for a menu?"

Shikamaru shook his head. "No," he said. He crossed his arms on the table. "Let's just get down to business."

"Very well." Kurama rested his hands flat beside his bowl, eyes shimmering from the lantern at the edge of the table. "What do you have to report so far? Any leads?"

"We still have no information about who exactly was behind the attack, but we did manage to run into your renegades this afternoon."

Kurama frowned. "You found them but not the attackers?"

"That's right," Shikamaru confirmed, noticing how Kankuro had seemed to seal closed the moment they had sat down. An anticipatory feeling of dread began to swell as he hoped Kankuro wasn't just going to bide his time before doing something reckless. "They weren't kidnapped as you suspected. We're still putting together an explanation as to how it happened, but it looks as if someone used some kind of mind re-writing genjutsu on them. They were wandering around the countryside."

Processing that information, Kurama nodded slightly. ". . . I see. That would make sense, given what happened to Baki-san. Where are they now? Did you manage to get them to a hospital safely?"

Shikamaru took a breath. ". . . They're dead."

A strange emotion colored the lines of Kurama's face. "That is unfortunate. Very unfortunate. Pardon me for the confusion, but I have to admit I'm a bit perplexed. How is it you managed to ascertain their mental ailments if they were already deceased?"

Truthfully, Shikamaru had not been looking forward to this part. "We didn't find their bodies. We found _them_."

". . . I'm sorry, but. . ." Kurama's hands withdrew from the table, resting on top of his legs. Fingers slowly curled. "Are you telling me that you were the ones that killed them?"

Shikamaru didn't answer.

All previous trace of emotion evacuated Kurama, eyes hardening as his cheeks and skin fell still. There was an unmistakable frost to his words when he spoke. "Part of our contract specifically requested that you find the whereabouts of the missing renegades and if possible bring about their safe return. How is it that you deemed it within permissible boundaries of our agreement that you kill them? That is unacceptable. Had they been dead when you found them, I would have understood, but. . ." Brow contorted downwards in an undisguised frown. "Is this how Konoha operates? Unless you give me a reasonable explanation, I'm going to hold you personally responsible."

Part of being a team captain was taking absolute responsibility. This included successes as well as failures. Shikamaru wasn't afraid of that ultimatum, but the enactment of reality was much less sympathetic; he thought he had prepared himself for the consequences to his orders and actions, but sitting there in that restaurant he realized perfectly that he wasn't. An ugly and deformed feeling rose in the blooming caverns of self-loathing, crawling and licking at him with the persistence of memory.

More than anything, in that very moment, he could recall the way his arms had felt as he stabbed the shinobi in the head. The way he had shook there, alone on the river-shore as death bled openly before him. The way Kankuro had chewed him out for his mistake, and the unmistakably horrible feeling that knowing Kankuro was right.

Shikamaru's voice was slow. "Well. . . there's. . ."

"Hey."

Both Kurama and Shikamaru turned to Kankuro then. The Sand-nin stared down hard at Kurama, and Shikamaru became worried at what might happen.

"Don't start," Shikamaru muttered.

Kankuro ignored him. ". . . You can't just sit there like some eel, sipping at your soup, telling us how to conduct our field operations." A distinct animation of disgust warped across Kankuro, channeled by the hatred he held towards what he knew he had to say. "You can't just hold this guy responsible because things didn't turn out the way you wanted. Maybe that's how you do things as a politician, but it doesn't work that way here. He gave the order for their death because we had no choice. Your boys had gone insane and were trying to kill us."

Kurama took the criticism easily. ". . . I understand that they were under mental distress, but doesn't the objectives of a mission come before your own personal safety?"

"No, you _don't_ understand," Kankuro replied, his stare slowly lapsing into a burning glare. "They came out of left field and were taking every effort to make sure we weren't going to walk away. Our safety as a team unit comes before any of your pisshole objectives because you're a manipulating bastard."

Shikamaru sighed. "Kankuro. . ."

"What you think of me is irrelevant. You have been assigned a contract, and it is expected of you to hold to it."

Kankuro snorted. "Our ultimate objective is to kill some Priest woman, isn't it? How the hell could we do that if we'd've been killed?"

Silence. Firelight danced.

Even Kurama was denied a reply as the cold logic of Kankuro's words fell into place, illuminating a thorny facet of shinobi law. Shikamaru had to begrudgingly admit he was surprised that Kankuro would choose to ensnare Kurama in a logic trap as opposed to resorting to insults and violence. Kankuro was _right_.

Shikamaru took the momentum of resistance of moved with it. He looked back over at Kurama. ". . . There's also the matter that you haven't been completely honest with us. How were we to know that your countrymen were going to be trained in some ninjutsu arts? I gave the order after we came under fire because I never for even a moment suspected they could have been the people we had been looking to save. It wasn't until later I learned of their identities."

Kurama reconnected to the moment, condescendence vanished. "I understand. I just want you to realize that I severely wish there could have been some alternative. Their deaths are a great loss."

"Must be bad for business," Kankuro observed.

". . . A great loss because they were people who were working under my orders," Kurama corrected. If Kankuro was trying his patience, he did an exemplary job at concealing it. "Simply because I am forced to make difficult decisions and cultivate a certain public image doesn't mean I'm without pity or concern for other people."

Shikamaru scratched his brow with a thumbnail. "Well. . . at any rate. That's most of what we've got so far. We've had no leads or success in finding information regarding the guilty party yet. Now is there anything new you can tell us?"

Kurama folded his napkin back over his lap, then taking a sip from his glass of red wine. "More of the same, mostly. Neighboring countries are starting to grow restless about the civil unrest and my country has started to reinforce the borders a little more severely. Since our contract is meant to be kept hidden from Mountain's public consciousness, that'll make your entry a bit more difficult. But I suspect for ones trained such as you are, the task should be a relatively simple endeavor." He shrugged, picking his spoon back up and returning to his soup. "High Chamberlain Ulema has continued to make a variety of public appearances in the last few days, but given that her very role is socially open that's not unexpected."

Fingers drummed the tablecloth. Shikamaru leaned back. "Is that all?"

"Mostly," Kurama replied. He turned his head to look across the restaurant. "Would you like me to order some tea perhaps?"

"No," Shikamaru said, beginning to slide out of the booth. He wanted to keep the meeting as brief as possible. "We're leaving."

Kankuro followed the motion and soon both of them were standing. As they were beginning to turn to leave, Kurama spoke again.

"Very well. One last thing, Nara-san."

Shikamaru put his hands in his pockets. "Uh huh?"

Kurama didn't look up at them as he ate his soup. ". . . As an observer, I think you would do well to work on your stealth. I am not an expert, but I have to say I find it rather poor."

Brow furrowed, Shikamaru's hands clenched between the sewed cloth. ". . . I'll keep that in mind."

Without bidding goodbye or goodnight, Shikamaru began to leave. Kankuro watched him take a few steps towards the exit in a contemplative storm, waiting until there were a few more meters of distance between them. As Shikamaru neared the exit, Kankuro looked down at Kurama who was still focused more on his dinner than paying attention to either of them. As Kankuro began to walk towards the exit, his hand shot out. He slid his fingers underneath the warm porcelain bowl, flipping it over and spilling its hot and frothing contents into Kurama's lap.

"Whoops."

Kurama said nothing, still refusing to look up at the teenager. Kankuro snorted and then left.

x x x x x 

As soon as they were both outside, Shikamaru spoke.

". . . That troublesome slime."

Kankuro nodded. "'Work on your stealth?' What the hell did he mean by that?"

They allowed their individual aggravated inertias carry them further away from the building. Scorched drywood and eddying firelight shrunk in the rapidly growing distance as Shikamaru, instead of answering immediately, leapt into the trees to put as much distance between them and the restaurant as they could. Kankuro grunted and then followed, both of them rushing through the darkened trees, leaves caressing them like hundreds of emerald fingers. After several leaps as the light had been smothered by the darkness, Shikamaru stopped.

He turned on his branch, looking over at Kankuro. "Well, what do you think he meant? It means he knows about the intel-unit. Which means he's fully aware of all the information we have on him."

Kankuro's knuckles brushed against the side of the tree. "Isn't that just terrific. Sounds like this Kakashi guy is overrated."

Shikamaru considered that, then shook his head. ". . . No. All this means is that Kurama has some pretty powerful friends."

"Yeah," Kankuro agreed. "Looks that way."

There was a strange and awkward silence after that as Shikamaru didn't continue along or make any movement to speak. He stood there in the elevated shadows with Kankuro only a few feet away, aware that the older teenager was watching him carefully. It was then that Shikamaru realized that Kankuro _wasn't_ a fool: brash, spoiled and arrogant, yes, but not incompetent. What brought him to this conclusion was that—in a moment of loathing where he understood what Temari had meant when she told him days before—Kankuro was acting almost exactly how Shikamaru would have.

Had the situation been reversed, Shikamaru would have distrusted Kankuro. He would have devoted his energy to watching the Sand-nin and meticulously analyzing every move and action he took to discern for himself whether or not the he was trustworthy. Or competent enough to control the myriad whims and forces of a team of shinobi. This knowledge brought Shikamaru no comfort. If anything it only served to fan the already billowing flames of dislike he had for Kankuro.

Shikamaru knelt on the branch. "What was that in there? Why did you—"

"Don't ever mention that again."

Shikamaru looked up.

Kankuro stared back at him with an unmistakable intensity. "I'm serious. Don't bring that up again. I said it before. If I'm commanded to work with Leafies, I will. And I'm willing to put my life and my word on the line for them if I have to. But don't think I did that because I wanted to."

"I don't. I didn't want you to, either."

"I'm going to give you one more chance," Kankuro told him. He straightened to pronounce the difference in their statures, relegating all the power between them squarely on his shoulders. "I really shouldn't, but I'm going to. Don't waste it."

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. "I'm flattered."

"Bastard. I'm being abnormally forgiving." Kankuro didn't look at him then when he said, "That was the first time you've killed someone, wasn't it?"

That gave Shikamaru pause. Irritated, he just dismissed the question. "Well, apologies for not being a crazed murderer with skulls on my belt."

The perpetual enmity between the two resonated in the quiet. Starwinds rolled over the forest, a subdued roar as everything but the distrust and dislike between them shifted around. For a long moment Kankuro tapped his fingers against the trunk of the tree he stood perched within, face irate and jagged. Shikamaru just watched him without speaking.

Kankuro's fingers stopped moving. "When you see his mouth bulge."

Shikamaru blinked.

"Force his mouth open and shove the handle of a kunai between his teeth. After that cut the front row of teeth at the top of his mouth out of his gums with shuriken. He can't chew effectively after that. Molars are useless for shredding flesh."

An odd twitch pulled at Shikamaru's lips. ". . . I don't know if I should be grateful for that information, or just disgusted."

"You _should_ feel like an idiot," Kankuro told him. "You're the Chuunin here. You shouldn't be getting torture lessons from someone beneath your rank." Kankuro knelt so they were eye-level and looked across at him. "Last chance. If you make such an amateurish error again, I'll make it so Temari is in charge or something. By force, if necessary. Remember that."

"Whatever. Don't get so confident."

Kankuro grinned, a creepy and malevolent expression. "Well then. . . Sweet dreams."

With that he dropped down a few branches before leaping off into the forest, leaving Shikamaru alone.

x x x x x 

Gaara looked up into the glittering obsidian of midnight, thoughts retracted to what had happened earlier. He stood at the edge of the second floor outdoor balcony of the Inn just outside of the boys' room, hands crossed over the wooden railing. Trees, stone and water yawned across the wilderness before him. There was an identity to be found in the stars above: he felt just like they appeared, fragile tiny lights to blink as if gasping through the swallowed sky, holding a frenzied and disintegrating blaze within their celestial hearts.

He felt that he should have been stronger.

In the past he never had these thoughts. There had never been a need to restrain Shukaku before, because all beings and all things were just sustenance walking about because he allowed them. When the sweltering mire of doom within him decided they were to be sacrificed to his whims, that was all that could be done. They would die. But things were different now, so different. There was a new terror that spilt through his soft and newly opened eyes every day. A fear of loss.

He had nearly tried to kill Kankuro, and that terrified him. That kind of action would never be acceptable again. Gaara tried hard, but could not think of why he had suddenly fallen into the grasp of the demon. His only explanation was that he had been weak.

Never again.

The familiar lurch of Kankuro's chakra approached. Gaara turned his head to see his brother crest the stairs a few feet away from him.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" Kankuro asked, walking over to Gaara. He blinked as he realized exactly what he'd just inquired. "Never mind. Stupid question."

Gaara turned to face the taller Sand-nin. "How was the meeting with Kurama?"

Kankuro shrugged. "Oh, you know."

". . . No, I don't. That's why I asked."

Leaning against the railing, Kankuro scratched his right temple. ". . . Not much to say. Boring. Short. We just covered what we already know. It was kind of revealed that he knows we're on to him. At least, he hinted at knowing about us having someone tailing him. Not sure what we're gonna do about that, but. . . well. Whatever. We'll come up with something."

"Right."

A few moments passed as the brothers shared the view of the stars and the darkness. Monochrome lights captured the woods in a soft bath, a bodiless sigh from their limbs as wind caressed the rolling features. Below, in the stone courtyard, fireflies lingered; glow-flames breathing lungs of light, electric eyes shifting over grass and rock like ethereal and winged treasure.

Kankuro pushed himself from the rail. "Well, I'm going to head off—"

"About earlier," Gaara said, stumbling over the words. He didn't continue.

A moment of soft breathing filled Kankuro with awkward reflection. ". . . It's okay."

Gaara shook his head. ". . . No. It wasn't."

"What--Well, what can you do about it now? It's been done."

Against his will, Gaara felt muscles throughout his body tighten in an internal rebellion. He couldn't look Kankuro in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I wasn't strong enough."

Kankuro kept a short distance between them, eventually sighing. "Can I even say anything to that? What do you want me to do?" He trailed off, voice sounding atypically subdued and almost vulnerable. ". . . Temari suspects something."

". . . I know."

"I didn't tell her anything," Kankuro said. His feet shifted beneath him. Stray fireflies blinked above them in a broken halo. "I know I--you said not to, so I didn't. But she's--Temari's smart, you know? She's pretty sharp about this stuff. You. . . I don't like keeping shit from her. I think you should tell her."

Gaara swallowed. "Perhaps you're right."

Kankuro took a few steps towards the door, stopping when he stood beside Gaara. He hesitated, then rested his hand on the younger teenager's shoulder. Both of them were surprised to find that Gaara was lightly shaking. Kankuro spoke quietly. ". . . We don't hate you. I hope you know that."

Fingers tightened for a moment and then released. Gaara nodded. Kankuro looked down, eyes probing the faded grooves of the wooden floor as Gaara turned again to look out over the forest. Then Kankuro walked over to the door of their room and stepped within, closing it softly behind him. Gaara stood alone again, watching the night sky, feeling both stronger and weaker than he ever had before. A pocket-sized sun spreading delicately shining waves into his weary soul.

x x x x x 

Shikamaru wandered back into the Inn just shortly after eleven o'clock. The lodging was a quiet and natural ambience, wood colors blending easily into the forested surroundings. The foyer was dim and empty sans a soft light glowing from a staff room behind the registration desk. A flight of stairs across the lobby led to the second floor rooms where the group was staying. Shikamaru began to make his way towards them but then hesitated: he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about running into Kankuro again right away, and since they were sharing a room with Gaara it was an unfortunate inevitability.

Light lounge-room jazz music met his ears.

_The hell?_ Shikamaru frowned and tried to locate the source of the sound. A faint light from beside the registry desk flickered, awareness dawning. _Oh yeah, they have a lounge. Forgot about that. Roadside Inns are kind of strange. I guess the lines blur the further north you go. _

It was tenuous at best, but at the moment he could think of no superior alternative. Shikamaru made his way towards the lounge. The doors were held open by wooden pegs shoved underneath them, and the faint familiar scent of nicotine spun around him as he entered. He looked about the nearly empty room, not particularly moved. Not that he was a lounge connoisseur or anything of the sort, but it wasn't especially impressive. A bar, a few couches, tables and chairs, a few booths. . . nothing grabbing or immediate. But then he supposed that was probably the point.

Aside from a few stray patrons at the bar and at the tables it was entirely empty. Except for—

_Temari? _

Sitting alone at the bar nursing a bronze liquid of some sort was the older kunoichi. Shikamaru was taken aback at how familiar and _right_ she seemed in such a place. In spite of her young age she did not seem remotely out of place or abstracted from her surroundings. He wondered why that was.

He walked up to her. "Hey, aren't you a bit young to look like a regular?"

She blinked, turning to face him. "Oh, hey. When did you get back?"

"Just now," he told her. He slid onto the stool next to her, waving the bartender away when he approached. "There were a few complications so we got held up somewhat. And I kind of took my time on the way. Where is everybody?"

Temari shrugged. "Dunno. Gaara kinda meandered off on his own just after you two left, and I haven't seen Kankuro. Who knows what he's up to." She took a sip of her drink, her foot lazily tapping against the bar to the slow music playing from old and scratchy speakers. "Hinata-chan was pretty tired. I think she's sleeping already."

"Hmm."

Temari looked at him seriously. "Something's up with her. She's trying to hide it, so I haven't said anything yet. But I thought you should know."

He nodded. "Right. I'll keep that in mind." After that he found he had nothing else to say, and if Kankuro wasn't even back yet he was eager to take advantage of that and pass out. He hopped off the stool, his hands finding his pockets. "Well, I guess if everyone is off doing their own thing it'd be pointless for me to even try holding some kind of recap briefing. Guess I'll fade, too. I'm pretty beat."

"Okay," she said simply. She yawned, turning as he was beginning to leave. "Wait, um. . . hey, why not hang out here for a while? It's kind of boring with no one around."

Shikamaru shook his head, clearly not interested. "I'm not really the drinking type. I'm still only thirteen anyways. I'll pass."

"You sure? We can get some tea if you want. I'm sure that wouldn't be a problem." She checked her watch. "And it's early still."

A flustered sigh escaped him. "Fine, fine."

A deep frown marred her pretty features. "Well, not if you're going to be an ass about it. Don't force yourself. I'm not that desperate."

His eyebrow arced. "Is this your whole 'joking' thing again?"

"I don't know," she said. She gestured to him with her drink. "What do you think?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "I think talking to you is really kind of annoying."

Temari stared hard at him then, genuine displeasure coloring her eyes. ". . . I don't know how I stand the sight of you, crybaby. I really don't."

"Same," he agreed. He didn't bother meeting the scrutiny of her glare with his own. Instead, he said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

His lethargic vision encountered cushioned seats hiding at the other side of the lounge in the darkness. He gestured to them with a tilt of his head. "Want to sit over there? That way I can fall asleep if you get too boring."

Temari snorted. "Asshole." She turned away from him, draining the contents of her drink in a quick tilt. She then seemed to disconnect from his presence as she refrained from turning back, crossing her arms on the bar. She ignored him then for half a minute, tapping her fingernails against the hard surface. Then she sighed, sliding off her stool. "Guess we could do that."

Shikamaru nodded and made his way casually through the lounge as Temari ordered a pot of tea for them to share. After passing by a small group of travelers smoking heavily at their table while talking quietly amongst themselves, Shikamaru slid into a semi-circle bench in the corner of the large room. He suppressed a comfortable sigh as he leaned heavily into the soft leather, arms draping over the back of the seat. Temari joined him a moment later, sitting across the circular table from him.

Instead of saying anything, however, Temari looked across the room with an obviously bored expression. Shikamaru could tell that she was annoyed with him. It was inevitable with women, he figured. But then he supposed that he had been kind of blunt and tactless—not that he was about to apologize. And it wasn't as if she was all that much better. She treated most people like they were lesser beings herself, so Shikamaru thought her disdain towards him was rather hypocritical.

He sighed.

Temari watched him from the corner of her eyes. "I heard that."

". . . What did you drag me here for? I thought you told me I was boring."

That hadn't been the right thing to say, Shikamaru realized instantly as her voice cooled to an icy and almost callous tone. "You are. But I don't know. To hang out. We don't have to have some deep conversation about the meaning of the universe or anything. I know how much communicating with other people _bothers_ you anyways. You're always free to walk at any time."

He scratched his forehead. "It's nothing personal."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just the way you are," she concluded for him. "I told you that you and Kankuro were similar."

"This is dumb," Shikamaru decided. He began to slide out of his seat. "I'm going to bed."

Temari nodded. "You do that. Sorry for troubling you with the idea that we could be friends."

Shikamaru had no response for that. He hesitated, caught in the threshold of inaction. After a moment he sat back down. He didn't look at her.

". . . Sorry," he said. And meant it.

"People have been apologizing to me too much lately," Temari decided. She turned and looked at him square on. "So stop doing it."

_Stop doing things to apologize_ for_, you mean. _

Conversation tapered off after that, and when Shikamaru spoke it nearly startled Temari. "I'm going to screw up."

Temari blinked, confused momentarily until what he meant dawned on her. She then made an indifferent noise, looking away from him again. "Well, yeah. That's a given. Most interesting people do. No one's going to have some perfect life where everything works out."

"I'm serious. I'm not a really fun person to be around." Shikamaru looked down at his hands, his fingers tapping restlessly against his legs. "You can't. . . you know. You can't get angry every time I--never mind. This really is dumb."

Leaning back into her seat, Temari gave a half-hearted shrug. "You don't make me angry."

A few minutes later the bartender called over to them and Temari went to the bar to retrieve the prepared tea. She brought it back, handing him a homemade clay pottery cup, placing her own replica down in front of her. As she sat down she quietly poured them each a serving, scents of chamomile lingering in the faint steam. After resting the plastic pot in the center of their table she sat back, closing her eyes. They said nothing to each other after that. Half an hour later he told her goodnight, paid the bartender for the shared pot, and headed back to his room.

His tea sat untouched.

x x x x x 

Moonlight sifted into the room through the slats of the wooden blinds, drawing slanted lines across the floor. The solitude was disturbed briefly as Temari opened the door, gently pushing it along its hinges before closing it silently behind her. Curled up underneath the down quilts on the far side of the room, Hinata's soft breathing permeated, the bed cushioning her pale sleep. Temari's movements were calculated and precise, using her training in stealth to keep her noise to a minimum. She unlatched her battle-fan, resting it on top of her pack at the foot of the bed. With the whisper of sliding fabric she undressed, easing herself onto the bed.

Adorned in a simple T-shirt and underwear she sat atop the blankets, leaning back against the wall. She crossed her legs, lithe and contoured and shining in the fractal moonlight, her hands falling onto her ankles. Her eyes then slid between the blinds, gazing out into the tranquility of midnight. Stars moved across the gossamer canopy, foaming deep-blue nebulas puncturing the endless black.

"Temari-san?"

Temari blinked, looking across the room. Hinata's eyes were opened, staring blandly at the ceiling. Temari scratched her elbow. "Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

Sunken blue shifted atop her pillow as Hinata shook her head. "It's okay. . . I've been slipping in and out of sleep. What time is it?"

"Late," Temari replied. Hinata's poorly concealed ailment returned to her memory. "Go to bed."

At first it seemed as if the younger teenager had complied. Temari had returned to staring out the shuttered window, her various thoughts slowly peeling across the murky morass of her brain. A few minutes later, however, a soft voice once again washed across the silent gloom.

". . . Can I ask you something?"

"Mm."

Hinata didn't continue immediately. Temari heard the sheets shift slightly, a lump in the covers indicating Hinata's hands had come together. "When you were. . . your academy days, when you were younger. . . did they teach you how to. . . adapt?"

"Yes," Temari replied.

"Did that training help you at all?" Hinata asked, her probing question gently fragile. "The first time, when you. . ."

". . . No."

Hinata didn't respond. Sheets shifted under the scattered chrome.

Temari's thumbs rubbed against her ankles, absently recalling her earlier years. She had always been stronger at dealing with the sordid past they had been given than both Kankuro and Gaara, so recalling the bleaker times wasn't a painful experience. "I had Ga--well, there were some extenuating circumstances in my case. It was different for us when we were younger. The first time I killed someone I was only five years old." She bit her lip softly, idly trying to remember exactly what she had felt in that exact moment. "I. . . don't remember what it was like. I don't really care. It's part of our world. I just adapted. In my world, you have to separate the strong from the weak. Otherwise there'll be this huge gulf separating everything, and you'll always have to second guess whether or not you're really on one side or the other. I couldn't stand the thought of living that way."

There was a slight intake of breath as Hinata began to speak, then a quiet sigh as she stopped herself. Instinctually Hinata rolled on to her side so her back was facing Temari, the only measure of privacy and solidarity available to her. Temari knew from the few days spent with Hinata that her first instinct was to shut herself off as often as possible. Particularly when discussing something about herself she became very guarded and almost frightened at how others would react.

Hinata spoke in a murmur. "Every time I was. . . alone, or scared, I'd. . . there was this person. He's been there and he's helped me grow every day. Whenever I saw him I'd think about how different I could be if I was strong the way he was. He watched me, and. . . then, little by little, I thought I was growing. I used to. . . really hate myself."

Temari caught the emphasis Hinata had placed on the _used to_. She wondered briefly how exactly Hinata's self-esteem could have been so thoroughly pulverized. But then she suspected she knew perfectly: her own life used as a similar template, forced onto Hinata's existence. Her Father's house was filled with many mansions. A palace of solitude and neglect. That was Temari's life. But instead of collapsing under the disconnection and ire, Temari seethed and smoldered; for every failing others perceived of her she simply severed more of the sensitive layers collected around her. Every failing was a foundation for perseverance. Nothing anybody could say would diminish Temari because, with the sole exception of two people, nobody ever meant anything to her. That was her strength.

She realized the opposite was true with Hinata.

Hinata's shoulders curled as she closed in on herself further. "I really don't want to. . . I mean, I hope every day that I'm not a burden. I want to help so much. But when everything happens so fast, and I look at you and Kankuro-san and. . . I try to envision it, but every time I remember him I have no idea what he could say to make things easier. He would always find a way. I'm not good at that."

Temari rubbed at her eyes. Bloodstained skin now a soft white touched gently again on her ankles as she stared down at her blankets. ". . . Hey, did you know that out in the middle of Wind Country there's a plateau called Onyjiouji Flats? There's an oasis nestled just off the west side of the Flats that shoots up a lot of really hot water since there's a small dormant volcano underneath. There's also an underground stream that runs overtop of the volcano that forks all the way to the ocean. So since salt water makes its way there when the water geysers up and evaporates, the Flats get covered in salt."

It was a stupid story and a dumb analogy. Temari continued anyway.

"Anyways, long story short, there's this cactus that grows on the Flats. It gains sustenance from the salt from the underwater springs and blooms these really gorgeous flowers once a year for only a few days. It's a pretty perilous trek to get to them, though." Icy azure peered again out of the rectangular slats. Comets and fire burned needlepoint eyes across the sky. "All that melted salt shooting up everywhere, when it rains down it looks like ash and snow, although it's a liquid so hot that it'd burn your skin right off if it touched you. Lots of people have gone out and died trying to harvest those flowers."

". . . Enijiou Petals," Hinata said.

Temari looked across the room at Hinata's blanketed form. "Yeah. That's right. They're similar to Azaleas, only with thicker stems and multiple manifolds. They're layered. The funny thing is that they bloom fullest at night. Strange that."

Soft breathing filled the silence. Temari realized by the miniature shudders that Hinata was crying.

Her voice hid her tears well. "Why are you telling me this?"

Temari shrugged even though Hinata wouldn't see it. "Because I was one of the stupid people who went and picked some of them. And I thought you liked flowers."

"I. . ." Hinata sniffled, the sound so quiet that it was almost imperceptible—but allowed a certain frailty that illustrated the trust Hinata had of Temari. Underneath her blankets, eyes closing, Hinata said, "You. . . really do know everything, don't you?"

Temari smiled. "Yeah. I do." 


End file.
